


Making it Bizarre and Weird – The Detective Girl

by SweetBunny8



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Childhood Friends, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fear of Death, Gen, Murder Mystery, Obsession, Possible Character Death, Resentment, Serial Killers, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 00:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12737721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetBunny8/pseuds/SweetBunny8
Summary: The prospect of a newspaper headline is what made a young writer (Len) step into a detective agency, requesting cooperation from a young female detective of similar age (Rin). Intrigued by her strange behavior, he follows her into a series of bizarre events tied around her, all while trying to unravel her secrets. As the paper he is writing is gradually tainted by the color red, he becomes determined to take hold of his own happy ending...





	1. The Detective Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Vocaloid Kagamine Rin and Kagamine Len are owed by Crypton Future Media, voice provided by Asami Shimoda. The song this story is based on is 'Making it Bizarre and Weird, The Detective Girl' by HayakawaP (Plutonius). The English translation of the lyrics were made by Saru Subs (wingarea). Obviously I owe all above for the creation of this story.
> 
> For the continuation of an original flowing story, most of the characters names are changed. But I have made it easy for you to figure out the identity of their Vocaloid representation.

It was a cold, dark afternoon in the middle of autumn. Small, irregular drops of water fell out of the gloomy sky. It was not enough to be called rain, but just enough to make the air around feel moist.

Walking through a narrow, abandoned alley was a young man. He seemed out of place with his fancy coat, neat pants and hat. This was not, after all, part of the city regular people liked to walk. Burglaries, rape and even murders were not uncommon in this area. Anyone with a wealthy appearance would only ask for trouble.

That this young man managed to cross this part of town without running into problems, could almost be called a miracle.

He stopped when met with the sight of an old, worn out building. The state of it was poor. Bricks were missing, a window was smashed and the door was severely damaged. One would presume such a building to be abandoned, if it wasn't for the small flickering light of a candle that burned inside.

His gaze travelled to the signboard that hung slightly tilted to the side. The painted words almost mocked the area they were in. No special names were added. It was a simple sign, bluntly showing the building's purpose. The words 'Detective Agency' in big red letters were not easy to miss.

One would question the owner's sanity to put a detective agency in a place where most crimes happen, but the young man wasn't picky. This is the place he'd been looking for, after all.

A loud bell rang as soon as the young man opened the door. The bell hardly seemed necessary; the loud creaking sound of the old door indicated an intruder well enough.

Surprisingly, the inside of the building was far cleaner than the appearance outside. There was only one large room and in it were a few pieces of furniture; a desk filled with pieces of paper, a phone and a typewriter, two chairs, a large bookcase taking up an entire wall, a coat rack and a small table that seemed to have no purpose.

There was no sign of anyone. That was strange in itself, since the door was left unlocked. In a neighborhood as this, it is very unwise to invite burglars in like that. Aside from that, he did have a scheduled appointment.

Hesitantly, the young man took a step inside. Taking off his damp coat and hat, he made the decision to wait for the owner's return. He turned around to close the door and looked in a pair of big eyes.

"Aarh!" he cried and jumped back.

A girl, that crawled out of her hiding spot observed him, staring at him with interest when his reaction was one of honest surprise. She took in the appearance of the young man; he was slightly taller than her with the same color blonde hair tied in a ponytail. Two blue eyes that stared at her as well, the shock in them just wearing off. A neat white shirt, black pants and a black waistcoat, gave the appearance of a reasonably wealthy young man. He even had a matching black tie. He was surprisingly small around the shoulder, not as broad and muscular as most other men.

When the young man recovered from the scare, he quickly analyzed the girl he just met as well. Short straight hair, a young woman with a body that didn't seem fully developed; in fact, he would give her no older than seventeen. The dress she wore was simple; a brown colored long sleeved dress. The most bizarre about the girl were her eyes. One was the a calm blue color, while the other was a bright, unnatural shade of red.

"I hope I didn't scare you," she giggled. The tone of her voice seemed to tell him the opposite.

"Why were you hiding behind the door?" he asked her.

A large smile spread its way on her face. "Was I?" she asked him instead. "Aren't you just jumping to conclusions?"

The young man's mouth slightly hung open at the counter answer and the strange girl continued. "You seem fairly sure. Of course I could have, as you say,  _hid_  myself here in case some lowlife criminal barged in.  _Or_ , I had been standing in this position when you came inside, making it a mere coincidence. Perhaps even, I had been standing here the whole time, waiting for you..." she chuckled. "There are always different answers, but which one is the truth?"

"...Isn't that your job to find out, detective?" the young man bluntly stated.

The blonde girl slightly tilted her head. "...Very keen. I like you." Walking right past him, she took a seat on the large chair behind the desk. She folded her fingers and rested her chin on top of them, leaning forward to meet his eyes. "So, what is your name and tell me a little bit about yourself."

Without hesitation, the young man answered. He had been preparing for this job interview, after all. "My full name is Levon Ellard Newman. I am a nineteen years old free-lance writer and I have written about forty articles in the two years I've been employed. I am experienced in field work; I've written crime-related articles before, working together with the police –"

"Where do you live?" she interrupted.

The young man paused for a second, not quite understanding why that was relevant. "I am originally from Cambridge, but I've found a small hotel in London where I am staying right now. It's not too far from here, actually, it's – " The rest of his sentence died away as her laughter filled the air. It was a cold, chilling laugh, filled with mockery and amusement. The blonde man didn't move and his facial expression betrayed his confusion.

When the laughter died down, the young girl locked eyes with him and with a surprisingly serious tone, said: "Dear Mr. Levon, this is the second time you've died."

She smiled at him as he stared at her in utter bewilderment. "...What?" he expressed.

The blond girl raised from her seat and walked up to him, her arms casually folded behind her back. "The first time you died was the second you stepped into this seemingly abandoned place..." In a second, she stepped behind him and in one quick movement, raised her hands together and pounded him softly on the back. Startled, the young man sharply turned around.

"Dead," she simply said. "...if I had a knife on me." She spun around and walked backwards until her frame touched the desk. "The second time you've died, was the moment you told me your name. How many people with your name live in Cambridge, do you think? You have made it boringly easy by telling me your occupation as well."

"But this is a job interview!" the young man protested. "I have to tell these things!"

The girl smiled. "What makes you think that I'm the real owner of this agency?" she softly asked. "...I could have been anyone, really." Her eyes narrowed slightly and the next words had a cold feeling to them. "Never tell anyone your real name."

The young man frowned and seemed nervous. "Then what happens if someone wants to know my name?" he asked. "Do I have to make up an alias or-"

"Len," she suddenly called. The young man tensed. "Levon Ellard Newman, L.E.N. Len. That will be your name from now on. It's casual, yet not too common and can't be traced back."

"...Alright," he agreed. "Then what do I call you, detective?"

The girl smiled mysteriously. "You can call me 'Rin'. Anyway, if you want to tag along, you shouldn't throw your curriculum on the streets. From now on, you're not even an official writer anymore. If anyone asks, you are my new assistant. Of course you'll still be penning down everything that happens."

"New assistant? What happened to your former assistant then?" he asked.

The girl twirled a lock of her hair. "She resigned."

Looking at her agency, he couldn't be surprised. "Alright," he agreed with her."Does that mean... you will hire me?" He couldn't help but sound hopeful.

The young girl paused at that moment, staring at him with a dubious look in her eyes, her finger still twirled around the lock of hair. It was as if his words had stirred a thought inside her he could only try to grasp. "...I will. For now, at least." She hopped on the desk, turning her attention to the scrambled pieces of paper. Picking up a stack, she started filing through them. "I know that you're searching for something worthy of a headline, but none of my cases are that interesting at the moment," she told him. "But don't worry, I am expecting something..." She lowered her gaze, her eyes glazing over for a second as if in thought. "...soon I think."

Her fingers brushed over the tip of something red underneath the pile of light-colored papers, something that the young man hadn't failed to notice. And as a frown formed on his face, she suddenly turned her attention back to him.

"You will hear from me then," she told him cheerfully.

With that, the conversation steered towards its end. The loudly creaking door announced his departure from the building, as the young man left it with only the promise of a reunion. That was all the detective girl could give him at the moment and that was all he left the decaying building with.

The weather had worsened and it had started to drizzle. He straightened the collar of his coat, hoping not to arrive at the hotel soaked. He had forgotten to bring an umbrella when he left it this morning and was regretting that now.

Taking his chances in the rain, he stepped onto the uneven tiles of the street. When he glanced back at the building, he was instantly met with a penetrating stare. The candlelight illuminated the appearance of the detective girl, her figure easily spotted through the broken window. And for a moment, he paused. Alone, with only the sound of rain clattering in the background, the two of them exchanged a glance.

He waved at her and she broke into a smile.

They would meet each other again.

* * *

 

Days started to turn into weeks. While the strange promise of the detective girl lingered, there wasn't any news from the detective agency. Plenty of crimes were still happening, spread across the newspapers. Now and then he read her name in some small case she had solved, somewhere in a tiny corner of the page. The cases she was mentioned in, seemed as uninteresting as she had claimed. It went from petty theft to a missing child, who was eventually found stuck in the basement of a neighbor. The only thing that surprised him, was how fast she solved these cases. They weren't hard, heck, even the police hardly bothered themselves to work on these simple mysteries. Still, the strange detective girl solved them in a matter of hours, solving one case and moving straight to another.

When six weeks passed the young man, as of now called Len, started to grow restless. He spend hours at night worrying about the possibility that she wouldn't search contact with him again. Pondering on what he should do if she doesn't call him. She really was one peculiar girl and he couldn't tell what she was thinking.

At one night, at roughly two o'clock in the morning, his waiting was finally rewarded... when his blankets were yanked away.

Her one red eye nearly glowed in the darkness, as his widened blue eyes met hers.

"Get up," she simply commanded.

The young man desperately tried to cover himself up, as he had been sleeping in only his underwear. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment when he reached for his clothes. "Wh-what are you- how did you get in here?" he stammered, putting his blouse on.

The girl didn't give him an ounce of privacy as her sharp eyes followed his every move. Her silence was nerve-racking and the young man felt himself grow uneasy. It was as if she was looking at a criminal, the way her eyes blazed.

Her fingers brushed over his blouse and he felt a shiver run down his spine when she stepped closer. The pale moonlight shone through the opened window, lighting up the dark room. Some of her blonde hair colored gold and Len couldn't help but blush when the girl started to close the buttons. The scene was intimate, something he hadn't expected to happen. It wasn't a common thing that a man and a woman were alone in a bedroom, standing this close together. All the questions that had lingered a moment before, faded. Even her expression softened.

"You really are careless, aren't you?" the soft whisper barely reached his ears, but this time, the words weren't harsh or accusing. "Leaving the window open like that..." She looked up at him, their faces only a few inches apart. She smiled, but it was a bright smile and for a moment... he thought she was beautiful. "You really fooled me well." In less than a second, she had the object she'd been searching for.

It's silver shine was almost blinding as she held the long sharp knife in her hand. Still standing close to him, the tip of it rested on his chest.

"You weren't sleeping at all and you heard me enter this room," she stated, twirling the knife around. "Your even breaths were too close after each other. You were holding this knife with your left hand, tucked underneath the pillow and tried to hide it when you reached for your clothes."

She took a step back and held the knife in the light of the moon. "Quality," she observed, the hem was decorated and the blade was silver. "Expensive. Sharp. Were you waiting for me with this?" she mused.

"NO!" the young man loudly exclaimed. His cheeks, if possible, went redder. "I would never actually use it." His hand rested on his forehead and he exhaled loudly, before sitting down on the side of the hotel bed. "Listen..." he announced, meeting her gaze. "I always carry it with me. I've had a rough experience a while back... It's true, I did hear you come in. I thought you were a criminal. This town seems full of them. I didn't want to scare you, so I tried to hide it."

Taking his hand, she placed the knife back in it. Suddenly the grip on his wrist tightened and he winched. Her eyes seemed to light up, her stare cold and penetrating. "I want you to pay attention now," her low voice rang through the room. "I do not like secrets. Surely you can understand this, since I am a detective... And as one, I won't be lenient with lies. Be honest with me, or keep your act together. If I find anything else, my dearest  _Levon_... I promise that I won't be this forgiving."

Widened blue eyes stared back. With that, she released him and the young man held his painful wrist. "...I'm sorry," he apologized.

She turned his back on him. "Forgiven," she huffed."The rest of your curriculum was flawless. Now, I didn't come here without reason, so put your pants on."

The young writer immediately complied; it was awkward standing around half dressed. But even when she wasn't facing him, he noticed that she was still watching him through the mirror. "This room is on the third floor..." he realized. "How did you climb through the window that quietly?"

The detective girl's gaze narrowed. This probably didn't help her already bad mood.

When he put on his shoes and started tying the laces, it was clear that she wasn't going to give him an answer. Despite of that, he wasn't willing to give up this easily. "Then what is so important that it can't even wait until tomorrow? It's the middle of the night, if you weren't aware of that."

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. "Fine. We need to travel to Nottingham's castle before dawn. I received word that a crime will be committed during a grand ball."

Len's blue eyes widened, pausing in his actions. "Really?" he asked. That sounded interesting enough to make the papers. "I've never been to a castle before."

She shot him a dirty look. Understanding the meaning, he quickly finished his laces. The detective girl didn't waste any time and unlocked the door by moving the bolt, just as he reached for his coat and his few belongings. He had the feeling that he wouldn't be spending the following night here...

 


	2. The Red Letter

The ride towards Nottingham by carriage was long and cramped. His knees kept bumping into the detective girl's, making him apologize more often than necessary. Even with the coat he was wearing, it was a chilling night. Since he was shivering, he couldn't help but wonder if she wasn't cold. She only seemed to wear a brown detective cape and hat beside her dress, the material thinner than his. Yet, she didn't seem affected by the cold temperature at all. It was courtesy to offer a man's coat when a lady was cold, so he swallowed his own desperation for warmth.

She laughed.

"Look at you!" she exclaimed. "I think you would freeze  to death if I take you upon that offer. I'd nearly offer you my own coat, pathetic as you look right now."

Alright, so he was wrong in that. The person in front of him is definitely not a lady.

He wrapped his arms around him, embarrassed by his attempt to be polite. He decided to switch subjects. "This case... how did you get it?" he asked her.

"Reputation," she casually replied.

"Really?" his voice mocked her. And she sharply found his gaze, her eyes narrowing in silent allegation. "As I recall, you have been in business for five months now and your previous cases seem nowhere near that important," he announced.

She looked at him skeptically, the silence thickening between them. "You've investigated me," she concluded.

"Of course. After you hired me," he replied. "I am a writer. We're naturally curious."

"...Well, what else do you know?"

The young man folded his arms together, a frown appearing on his face as he started to sum everything up. "You're a small organization plundered underneath the bigger detective agencies in England, who have more experience then you do. You usually take the smaller police cases to build a reputation and to pay the rent," he started telling. "Other agencies know you as the 'the red-eyed girl detective', a nickname that once started as an insult to your age and gender. Most other detectives dislike you, but mostly for your sharp attitude."

She continued to gaze at him with her eyebrow raised and for a moment he hesitated, before he decided to state exactly what had been bothering him. "Your assistant was named Nerill Akery. She never resigned. She disappeared over two months ago." The detective girl's eyes flashed dangerously, but the young man felt that he needed to continue. If he didn't voice this, it would hang between them for the rest of their cooperation. "There are rumors that you two... never got along," he voiced. "That you might know more abou-"

Without warning, he was roughly yanked forward, her fingers clutching the collar of his coat tight. He felt his heart leap in his chest when she pulled him close to her face.

"Don't you  _dare_..." she threatened. Her narrowed eyes nearly glowed in the darkness of the night and he felt her warm breath on his face. "Don't you dare say another word... You will  _not_  mention that girl in front of my face again. Do I make myself clear?"

His wide eyes stared back at her and he found himself nodding stiffly in response. Her grip slowly loosened, allowing him to take a shaky breath. With one last intimidating stare, she returned him his freedom.

She turned her head away from him, her lips tightly pressed together. He found himself looking anywhere but the detective girl as well, his heart still racing at what just occurred. With each passing moment filled with silence, it became more and more evident that he wouldn't receive an apology.

It started to rain outside, something common in autumn. It was more of a blessing than a curse. He shifted his attention to the window, watching random raindrops stick against the glass. His frustration with the detective girl's behavior lessened as the minutes passed and after a while, he started to forget his anger. The uncomfortable quietness inside the carriage took some time to get used to, but as the hour passed, he started to relax his tense shoulders.

He listened to the small sounds audible around them and started focusing on them alone. What filled the air was the sound of rain clattering against the windows, an occasional snuff from the horses and the sound of the wheels of the carriage through the muddy ground. It was rhythmic and with slowly, he started to feel more at ease.

Along with this feeling of assurance, came the fatigue that has been plaguing him these last few weeks. The lack of sleep only now seemed to gain in on him. And as his eyes fluttered shut, surrounded by these quiet little sounds, a feeling of relief wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

"Wake up." He flinched at the sudden movement on his shoulder, shaking him awake. The first thing that he noticed, was how bright it suddenly was. The sun had already risen and he was vaguely aware that the carriage had stopped moving. He blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust to the light. It was morning already? He still felt drowsy and he wondered how long he'd been sleeping.

"Oh  _come on_ ," he heard her complain, her hand still shaking him. He rubbed his eyes, in an attempt to feel more awake. The detective girl was already with one foot out of the carriage and expected him to do the same. Groggily, he slowly moved his body, yawning as he made his way outside... and gaped at the huge castle in front of him.

"Wonderful, you're awake," Rin said, yanking his arm and dragging him to the front door. He couldn't help but stare at his surroundings, barely noticing how roughly she pulled him inside.

The castle's inside was even more impressive. It was incredibly big and filled with rich paintings, statues and golden ornaments. Multiple crystal chandeliers hung on the high ceiling of the main hall. The floor they walked on was made out of white marble and the walls were painted like the sky. He truly couldn't keep his eyes off it.

"Stop drooling" Rin warned, squeezing his arm once, as she dragged him through the hall. She knew that he wouldn't be moving on his own if she let him go.

"Welcome, detective," a woman's voice rang, warm and sweet like a spring day.

Wearing a silky peach-colored dress, stood a woman many would find more beautiful than the expensive jewels she wore. Her teal hair was flowing behind her like water, some of its strands braided and tied up together. Her eyes were like the river, calm and delicate. She had an amazing natural beauty and must have broken a lot of hearts in her life. Next to her stood a tall man in a neat suit wearing a pair of glasses. He was no doubt the butler.

"Millina Vanquost," Rin acknowledged.

The young woman smiled gracefully, showing her left hand. "Not anymore."

"Ah, somehow I can't seem to get used to that."

Len blinked, looking from the detective girl to the young woman. "You met before?"

The blonde girl almost seemed to tense. "In an old case," was her quick response.

"I believe proper introductions are in order," the high, velvet voice of the teal-haired woman spoke. "My name is Millina Callisford-Vanquost, lady of this castle. Please call me by my first name." She smiled at the young man. "May I ask for your name, good sir?"

"A-ah," Len stammered, hesitating for a moment, almost spilling out the name she had forbidden him to use. "It's Len, I-"

"He is my new assistant," the detective girl answered for him. "He will write down anything important regarding the case, if that's not too much trouble for you."

Millina laughed, her voice soft like a chime bell. "I do not mind at all. This young man seems very delicate, I am fond of him already."

Len blushed and Rin rolled her eyes. "Great. Now, I need to see that letter."

"Straight to the point as always," Millina said, signaling her butler, who handed her the dark red envelope. Len held his breath at the appearance.

The girl detective accepted it with her gloved hands and started analyzing the envelope, not yet reaching for the letter inside. She held it above her head for a moment, her eyes narrowed in concentration. She observed the broken wax seal. After only a good minute of studying, she carefully reached for the letter inside.

He had no idea what she was looking for, but he didn't want to interrupt her. Silently he grabbed his own notebook and pen, already writing a few things down. He was just about to pen down the appearance of the strange red envelope when a loud laughter send chills down his spine.

The red eyed girl detective was laughing like a drain as she clutched the piece of paper. ...Had she discovered something? "What is it!?" he couldn't help but shout and her laughter died down instantly, as if the joke suddenly wasn't funny anymore.

She turned her head and looked at him through half-lidded eyes. "It's a  _fake_ ," she grinned.

Millina took a step forward. "It is?" she exclaimed.

The detective girl then reached into her own coat, revealing another red envelope. He quickly realized that it was the same piece of paper he had seen in her office weeks ago. He hadn't given it much thought back then, but now.... "This case died out years ago," Len breathed. "How did you... shouldn't this be under the supervision of the police?"

"I think you can tell the difference between them yourself...can't you, my assistant?" the detective girl told him instead. The corners of her lips had spread into a sharp smile and her eyes lingered for a moment as she handed both letters to him. As if she was personally challenging him.

At first glance, the two envelopes looked exactly the same. The complex pattern of the wax that had once sealed them off... identical. Both letters were of a thick, rich paper and handwritten with black ink. Like the rest, the handwriting seemed...

"Found it yet?" her voice mocked him.

He analyzed the handwriting. The letters looked quite the same, but... somehow the letter 't' was written with an upwards movement in the 'real' letter and in the 'fake' letter, it stayed horizontal. Was that everything, really?

"The letter 't' is different," he muttered. He started reading through the letters, something he hadn't done yet. He had searched for something visible first.

The real letter was actually addressed to ' _My_   _dearest detective girl_ '. While it was an intimate addressing, he put it aside for a moment and read the rest.

~  _Most apologies for the wait. Your next case will present itself shortly. For you, I sincerely hope that it will be able to capture your interest~_

There was no name or signature left underneath. He quickly read the second letter.

_~ Tomorrow night, a murder will be committed here. Can you stop the crime before it is too late, detective? ~_

"It's strange," he concluded, his eyes narrowing at the second letter. "I don't know how to explain it... It isn't the message itself, but the feeling I get when I read it."

He paused for a moment, looking up to meet the detective girl's eyes. "The first one is affectionate. The second letter is much more reserved. Why would he address you in an intimate way at first, only to create more distance in his second letter?"

Rin's lips spread in a subtle smirk. "You failed to miss one vital clue," she told him. "The candle wax is of a different structure. But not bad for a first attempt."

He blinked, wondering if he should be grateful or feel insulted. He took a closer look at the broken white seal on the back of both envelopes. He had a hard time trying to see the difference in structure, but after a few seconds he noticed the grained texture.

In the meanwhile, the detective girl addressed Lady Millina. "I cannot help but notice all those white candles you seem to have in this hallway... Are they preparations for tonight's ball?"

The teal haired lady seemed taken aback by that. "Why, yes... We did purchase them to light later this evening. We usually have blue candles, but my husband wanted a change of décor for this special occasion."

The writer couldn't help but notice how the detective girl's eyes lightened up. "I see..." she replied smoothly. "That is interesting. I would like to know when they arrived and how many you have purchased. If I understand correctly, these are the first white candles in your possession... they haven't been lit once?"

The lady exchanged a nervous look with the stoic butler, who then cleared his throat and answered the questions his mistress wasn't sure of. "On September the twenty-first, my master has let me order three hundred and twenty four identical white candles to replace the candles of the chandeliers. They arrived on October the fourth. We kept them stored in their original boxes until we started decorating the castle yesterday evening after my master and mistress went to bed. They are still unused."

"Three hundred and twenty four is certainly a specific number," Rin mused.

"The five chandeliers in the main hallway here need thirty-six candles each. The larger three in the dance room need forty-eight a piece. Together, they make the exact number of three hundred and twenty four, madam."

There was a childish smile on the detective girl's face. "And did you count them?"

The butler hesitated then, readjusting his glasses before answering. "No, madam, we did not count them. The boxes were still intact and we didn't miss a candle during our preparations."

"We found the letter yesterday around four in the afternoon," Lady Millina explained.

"Then it's a coincidence," Len concluded. "If the boxes weren't opened before last night and none of the candles were missing, the wax on the seal comes from somewhere else. White candles are common to have."

Rin met his gaze. "That's dreadfully naïve of you."

The writer froze on the spot.

"I want one of those candles. Right now, actually," she commanded.

The butler eyed his mistress, who then gave him her timid approval. He spun on his heel, walking away with long, even steps to retrieve one of the candles. Millina parted her lips to address the detective girl, but suddenly found her vanished from her side.

Even Len, who had taken this chance to retrieve the notebook from his pocket, was alarmed by the quiet disappearance of the girl in question. She had taken quick steps to catch up with the butler, disappearing around the corner just when he lifted his head.

"But... he..." the lady stumbled, perplexed. "Would come... right back."

What could she be thinking, making such an unpredictable move? With his notebook clutched tightly in his hand, he needed to take a small sprint in order to find his way back to her. He didn't want to miss any vital parts of the investigation. The sharp clicks of high heels echoed through the hallway, indicating that Lady Millina was close behind him.

They found the detective girl in the middle of the grand hall, smiling at the ceiling where one of the grand chandeliers hang. With forty-eight candles and decorated with at least a hundred shining pieces of crystal, it truly was an impressing sight. The butler was already retrieving the steep ladder from the corner of the dance room, not batting an eye to the audience he had. He proceeded his orders by climbing the ladder.

"The third candle at the second row, next to your left hand, please!" the detective girl called up. Len could only raise his eyebrow at the detailed command. "What does it matter what candle he gives you? Aren't they all the same?" he asked.

"How simple-minded..." she commented softly. "If our culprit is this butler, he could have easily prepared a decoy candle. I won't allow my investigation to be disrupted by something that could be this easily avoided."

He let out a small breath. That actually made a lot of sense.

"Light it," she demanded as soon as she obtained the requested candle. With a nodded approval from his mistress, the butler did what he was told. With the candle still firmly in her hand, she watched the flickering flame, waiting patiently for the wax to melt. Giving him the opportunity to write a few words down.

At least a minute passed in anticipation and he had quickly penned down everything that happened so far, including the different structure of the candle wax. In his notebook, he had collected all the details that had passed by. He would be able to change it into a fully detailed story as soon as there was enough time.

Satisfied for now, he lifted his head. And witnessed an accident about to happen.

He clasped her hand out of instinct, the force of it startling the detective girl, tilting the candle to the right. The melted wax instantly dripped on the floor.

"Careful!" he yelled at her, angrily meeting her surprised eyes. He took the burning candle from her hand, holding it out of reach. "You were about to burn yourself!"

She looked taken aback at this. "You're exaggerating. It's only wax."

" _Hot_ wax," he corrected her. He felt his heart rate quicken when he noticed the way she clutched her hand against her chest. "...Wait, you aren't hurt, are you? Did any of it touch your skin?"

At this, her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips in irritation.

This lack of response only made his concern grow and he reached for her hand, something she didn't seem to appreciate at all. "Stop it!" she raised her voice.

"Let me see your hand!" he demanded instead, struggling to reach for it.

She raised her arm, glaring at him. "You're acting ridiculous, let go!"

Suddenly, the sound of laughter filled the air, the light-hearted sound creating such a contrast to their heated discussion, that the both of them stiffened.

Lady Millina was watching them both with an warm smile on her face. Her lightly-colored eyes contained an amused sparkle that made the writer's cheeks flush instantly. He only now realized how overly protective he had reacted.

"You two are absolutely adorable," the lady commented affectionately.

The detective girl huffed, yanking her hand back from his slacked grip. "...I'm not hurt," she muttered angrily, her own cheeks heated in embarrassment.

He glanced at her averted gaze, before nodding stiffly. "...Alright. Good..."

The flame had gone out in their struggle, but the detective girl didn't seem to mind when she circled the small puddle of wax they had left on the floor, sinking through her knees to observe it closer. It had already cooled down and taken form. "It's the same," she told them. "It's structure is rougher than the candle wax on the real letter, quite easy to tell."

"The second letter isn't written by that serial killer then," Len concluded.

She nodded. "It seems that way, doesn't it?"

The lady of the castle breathed a sigh of relief. "So it was a hoax after all."

"Oh no, in fact, it's worse," the detective girl replied, an amused smile on her face. She gracefully lifted herself up. "The threat was genuine alright. Whoever has written this letter, has the full intention to commit a personal murder and place the blame on a rather well-known serial killer. Despite the fact that he hasn't been active for over three years, most of the detectives would instantly link this letter back to him."

Lady Millina looked devastated, her face paling at the news. "I... it's impossible to cancel the ball now. The letters would arrive too late. Anyone of them could be..."

"Then all we can do now, is prevent this murder from happening," the detective girl announced. "To do that, I will need the names of every person who had walked in and out of this castle from October the 4th until yesterday afternoon."

The lady slowly blinked. "You... can't suspect any of my..."

"With all due respect, everyone in this castle is a suspect at this point."

That created a thoughtful frown on the lady's lovely face and she started searching through her memories. "My husband, of course. My brother-in-law and his wife have been staying over these past two weeks. Our family friend arrived around the same time as well... Let me see, I have twelve maids, a gardener, a chef and my butler, Julie... Myself included, there would be twenty-one of us."

Rin smiled. "No one else has visited, aside from us?"

"No, not at all."

"That sounds about perfect."

* * *

 

"Don't trust anyone," were the first words she spoke when they entered the guest room assigned to him. Her eyes were strict as she leaned against the closed door, watching him. He dropped the suitcase on the bed and opened the lid.

"The culprit is someone in this castle and we can't tip them off," she warned him. "You're not allowed to share any information regarding the case to anyone. The more friendly and nice they are, the more reason you have to be suspicious of them. They often have much too hide behind that smile..."

The writer momentarily paused in his actions. "You still can't prove that anyone outside of the castle hasn't used the exact same candle. Besides, I'm afraid I don't agree with that statement," he told her. "There are plenty of people who are genuinely nice to others... I can't even imagine someone like Lady Millina hurting anyone."

The detective girl looked at him, before breaking into a smile. "Oh, that's right," she said, lifting her chin. "You fancy her."

His eyes widened by her statement and he frowned when her smile only grew larger at his reaction. "That's not my point at all," he protested. "I don't li-"

"Don't bother," she interrupted him, holding her hands up. "I don't mind, so you don't have to defend yourself. You're clearly not the first one that finds her attractive. She is obviously very beautiful, but she's also married. The sooner you pull your head out of the gutter, the better."

His eyes narrowed and he averted his gaze, staring down at the suitcase. "She's..." he muttered below his breath. "... not that wonderful."

She rolled her eyes, placing both her hands in her side. "I'm not blind, Len, so don't pretend that she's not the type any man would fall for."

Sharply, he turned towards her, pinning her between him and the door, his arms at both sides of her head. Her eyes had widened, her folded arms now in front of her chest almost protectively. She hadn't expected a move like this.

He stared down at her and she stared up, confusion in her round eyes. She felt trapped, but not by his arms. She felt her heart beat faster and her lips twitched as the normal remarks she had somehow died away."W-what?" she hesitantly said.

With a single movement, he removed her detective hat and leaned in. Her hair was messy, she glared at him and her eyes were two different colors, but he couldn't help but think once more that she looked absolutely beautiful.

"Like that," he said. "When you're like that, you're very pretty as well."

Her cheeks went red. Whether it was out of anger or embarrassment was left to be discussed, when she harshly shoved him away.

"Hmph... I don't appreciate you making advances on me," she said coldly.

"Actually," he laughed. "I was just complimenting you. I wasn't about to kiss you if that was what you were thinking,  _detective_."

Her eyes narrowed. He knew he had struck a nerve.

"But I meant it," he said, a lot more serious this time. "You're pretty in your own way. Don't ever feel like you're worth less in comparison."

"Well,  _thanks_ ," was her reply as she snatched her hat from the ground. "Next time, I don't need a demonstration with it."

He shook his head, smiling as he walked back to the bed to unpack. He carefully folded the clothes he had quickly stuffed into his suitcase. He had thrown them in carelessly and he was glad to see that they were not too wrinkled.

It didn't took long for him to notice that the detective girl showed no intention to leave. She was still leaning against the door, simply observing.

After a few minutes in silence, he slowly started to feel uneasy. "Do you... need anything else?" he asked.

She immediately responded. "When you're done, I'd like to bring both of our empty suitcases back to the carriage."

He looked at her for a moment, before raising his eyebrow skeptically. "Why would you walk all the way back for that?" he asked her. "It seems rather pointless if we're going to need them later. Besides, we have plenty of space to keep it in our rooms."

She tensed, her eyes widening slightly before she redeemed herself. A small chuckle came from her. "You're right. I'm just so used to bringing it back to the carriage in my other cases. I don't usually spend the night."

He smiled back. "I understand. Do you have a room nearby?" he asked as he walked towards the closet, putting a small pile of clothes into it.

"Right next to yours," she answered. "I asked them to place us close together, just in case anything happens in the middle of the night. It would be bothersome to search for you then."

He closed the empty suitcase, shoving it underneath the bed. "I appreciate it," he told her. "Everything, really..." He paused for a moment, taking a step in her direction. "Thank you for hiring me... and giving me the opportunity to write this story."

"The pleasure is mine," she replied, matching the warmth of his smile. "I must say that I've missed an extra pair of hands." She spun around, her hand on the doorknob, before pausing. "I'm going to unpack in my room now. Will you come with me?"

He looked surprised and his facial expression quickly changed to an apologetic one. "You know that it isn't possible..." he replied. "You're a lady. For me to look into your belongings is... well...."

Her smile fell. "I don't have anything to hide."

He hesitated for a moment, before slowly shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I can't..."

She sighed softly, before opening the door. "I'm back in two minutes," she muttered. Before waiting for a reply, she left the room.

He blinked at the closed door. Walking back to the bed, he shook his head. She was such a strange girl...


	3. The Challenge

 It was not until the early afternoon, that the both of them met the other residences of the castle. Despite being terribly busy with the final preparations for the grand ball, the detective girl managed to acquire a private conversation with each servant individually. The butler, gardener and chef didn't notice anything amiss, as did none of the twelve maids.

Each time, she asked the same questions in a different way and commanded Len to write down the facts that were continuously confirmed. It resulted in the following tale: The letter was found yesterday in the late afternoon. The three guests of the Master and Lady were already staying over for a week, having arrived on the 2nd of October. The white candles for the ball arrived two days after their arrival. After that delivery, no letters or telegrams had been brought to the castle. No one had visited the castle between October the 4th and October the 9th.

The detective girl's hand clasped over his when he tried to pen down that the daughter, Julie Callisford, had been the one who found the letter in the middle of the ballroom. "There is no way we can confirm that as a fact," she had told him.

They soon met the acquaintances of the Callisford family. The brother of the Master was named Gaillard Callisford, a tall muscular man with a smooth voice and an even smoother way of words. His purple hair was of ridiculous length, tied together with a strip of ribbon and falling down the length of his back. Few men manage to grow hair of such length as it just isn't practical. His hairstyle alone radiated a status of wealth, something the clothes he wore only accentuated. Beads and pearls were sewed on the lines of a perfectly fitted jacket and the rich cotton blouse that was visible underneath it, contrasted nicely with the dark color of the uniform. His eyes were kind as he smiled upon the detective girl, taking her hand between his larger ones and thanked her for coming.

The lady next to him seemed just as proud and refined. Her long cherry blossom-colored hair was braided in a complex French braid, decorated with pearls and fresh flowers. A long beige dress with stuffed up shoulders was tight on the waist, making the skirt fall wide. Her voice was, when she introduced herself as Lucia Callisford-Vincostre, low and mature, yet still very feminine. Her sky blue eyes radiated intelligence and pride.

Lady Millina's personal friend eyed more free-spirited. The lady who introduced herself as Gillium Noverin, was a cheerful one who liked to talk, but did manage to remain her poise and grace as a lady. She didn't interrupt when a man had the word and she formulated her words carefully and very polite.

Her bright orange dress suited her open and prominent presence. A matching hat with a white lotus flower sat upon her short leaf-colored hair. Two longer strands reached her shoulders, while the others didn't go further than the length of her face. She was, something that was unusual for her age and status, unmarried. They learned that she has a betrothed, but on the other side of the Northern Sea.

When they finally met the Master of the castle, Keaton Callisford, the first thing the detective girl noticed was that he was a lot more reserved and distant than his brother. When he shook her hand in politeness, his deep blue eyes lingered a second longer than necessary. They were, like his hair, the color of the sea. Just like the sea he eyed beautiful, but also cold and unpredictable. The coat he wore was made of the finest material and also heavily decorated with sapphires, beads and pearls.

His daughter, Julie, was at her age well-spoken and polite. She was a perky little girl who even managed to make her stiff father smile. Her brown hair was divided in two pigtails, bouncing up and down when she walked. The dress she wore was a bright red color and reached to her ankles. The little girl didn't stay long. When she finished her lunch and the detective girl had asked her the necessary questions, she was immediately taken back to her room by one of the maids.

Len tapped the end of his pen against the notebook. Of course no one had seen anything suspicious. He wasn't allowed to write down any speculations, so he took that moment to take a small break, reaching for a glass of water.

"Well then..." The detective girl raised from her seat, capturing everyone's full attention with just those simple words. Different colored eyes gazed at each adult individually, her lips spreading into a keen smile. "Tonight, as you may have heard, there is the possibility that a serial killer will enter this castle."

Len nearly spat out the water he'd intended to swallow. Didn't she conclude that it was a fake letter this morning?

"The questions I've asked you were just standard procedure," she continued cheerfully. "The task of keeping this party without casualties will be a bit challenging in itself. Having noted that tonight's ball will be a masquerade, it will be harder to keep an eye on anyone suspicious. Therefore I must insist of setting up a few rules and boundaries..."

Lucia raised a skeptical eyebrow."What kind of boundaries?" she voiced.

The detective girl placed her hands behind her back and started circling the dining table, much like a lioness stalking her prey. "A full facial mask is out of the question," she announced."It would be too convenient for our serial killer to sneak in and use such a mask to keep his identity a secret from us. None of you, nor our guests, are allowed to wear one. I need the servants to be strict at the entrance. Anyone entering with a mask that covers their entire face, must turn it in at the entrance en proceed the masquerade without one."

Lady Millina looked hesitant, turning her head to her husband. "Darling, didn't you have that silver mask especially made for..." she trailed, but stopped when he raised his hand to stop her flow or words. Sea-colored eyes focused on the detective girl.

"I will not wear it. I believe I have a mask somewhere that will meet with your conditions, detective," Keaton Callisford told her.

The blonde lifted her chin, the hint of a smile on the edges of her lips. "Even more important is the second rule I wish to bestow on you... I want to know where you are at any given time. I need to know exactly what clothes you are wearing and I forbid you to leave the ballroom unannounced."

Gillium smiled nervously. "...Pardon me and forgive me if I am mistaken... but it sounds like you're accusing one of us to be the culprit... Isn't asking us not to leave without permission, perhaps a little childish?" It was not just the lady that seemed to be concerned about this. One glance around the table was enough to confirm that her thoughts were shared. Gaillard and Lucia exchanged a hesitant glance and Millina worriedly stared at the detective girl.

This only caused the smile on her face to grow. "Oh, not at all..." she chuckled. "While the threat wasn't directed at one particular person, I do share a heavy responsibility of taking care of you. My wish is to keep you alive for tonight, that is all. It's challenging enough without you walking in and out."

The blue eyes of the writer clouded in doubt. Seconds passed in a tense silence, when Millina parted her lips... but then her husband rose from his seat and she fell silent. "I agree to these terms," he announced.

"Perfect. That is settled then," the red-eyed girl detective replied. The owner of the castle has given his approval. Ironically, it didn't matter what the rest of them thought now. This was already a closed deal.

* * *

 

Her steps echoed through the empty ballroom as she wandered off by herself, leaving him to carry the heavy ladder by himself. Of course. He should have expected that when she asked him to retrieve it.

"Right here should be fine," she then told him with a far too innocent-looking smile on her face. Did she really expect him to fall for that?

"It's really heavy, you know," he panted, using every muscle in his body to lift the object a few feet closer. He was almost there... almost.

She placed her hand in the side of her hip. "Then you'd better grow a backbone soon, Len, because we have seven more chandeliers to search," was her helpful advice.

He narrowed his eyes, annoyed with her cold behavior and for a moment, he considered letting her  _try_  carrying the heavy object by herself. She needed his help as his 'assistant' just as much as he needed to write this story.

"You lied to them." He moved the ladder in place and unfolded it, relieved to have a break from the labour. "You don't want to keep an eye on them, because they're your responsibility. You want to keep an eye on them, because you're convinced that one of them is the culprit."

The detective girl radiated a certain arrogance in her stance, lifting her chin and folding her arms together. "I have my reasons for suspecting them," she then confirmed.

Len heaved a sigh. "I know that you're thinking that the culprit is among them, but even if you can prove that one of those candles was used to seal the fake letter... The culprit could still be one of the servants."

"Yes, that is true," she admitted. "It would be irresponsible to disregard the servants, especially this early in the investigation." She placed her hand on the rung, looking up to her destination high above. The individual pieces of crystal sparkled brightly, even in the semi-darkness of the room. "I'll keep an eye out. But call it intuition, I guess."

She located her foot on the first step of the ladder.

The firm grip on her arm made her pause. "Hold – wait," he called out, making her turn her head. "It's too high– I don't want you climbing it."

Different colored-eyes stared back at him. "Huh...." She mused. "You're easily worried, aren't you?" she uttered, raising her eyebrow at him. "Either way, you're being childish. Release me at once."

Blue eyes flared in restrained anger. "It's dangerous," he countered. "It's too high and the ladder isn't – You're just not going to climb it. I won't let you."

"Then _you_  tell me how I should investigate this chandelier," she then countered. "I need to reach the ceiling and I don't have wings growing on my back, you know."

"I know," he beamed, nodding solemnly at her statement. "I'll climb it."

This only seemed to irritate the detective girl as she narrowed her eyes at him. "Definitely not," she coldly stated.

"I'm serious!" he exclaimed. "I can do this - "

" _So can I_ ," she interrupted. "I'm not helpless, despite of what you might think."

When he parted his lips to counter this, she slapped her hand in front of his mouth. He tensed when she leaned in, her face too close to his. "Listen, if you really want to help out, steady the ladder for me," she told him, before releasing her grip on him.

The writer hesitated and she took that wavering moment to move along. With only five steps, the wooden ladder was already starting to shake. He quickly complied, clutching it tight. He bit the inside of his cheek restlessly when she climbed higher, completely unfazed by the danger. "Why, look at that!" she laughed, once she reached the top. "We might not have to search seven more chandeliers."

"Great," he flatly told her. "Now climb back down."

"Someone doesn't sound very enthusiastic," she commented loudly. She leaned back, glancing down at him. He flinched, feeling the ladder move when she shifted her weight. "You should be delighted, Len! This brings us closer to the culprit."

His frown only deepened. "I mean it," he claimed. "Come down."

To his abhorrence, she merely send him a childlike smirk.

"Wait – what are you doing!?" he shouted. She was stepping onto the second top rung, with only her knees to keep her balance. Her free arms moved towards the chandelier, reaching for the candle at the far back.

"No – stop. Come down right now!" he shouted up.

But she paid him no mind as her right foot reached the top rung. "In a second," she replied. Her hand reached for the candle with only her left ankle to bring support to a wavering stability. Fingers stretched out. He felt his heart drop when she nearly slipped forward that moment, clutching part of the chandelier to keep her balance, accidentally breaking off a piece of crystal that crashed right next to the ladder.

...That was  _it_.

She steadied herself just in time to grasp the candle and the triumphed smirk that framed her face, only lasted for an instant. She managed to take a hold of the top rung with her hand, before she realized that something was amiss. The stability of the ladder disappeared... The sound of wood protesting along with his steps, made her heartbeat accelerate, alarmed by the clear warning signals. "Len, stop acting immature and climb back down right now!" she ordered him, glaring down at his ascending figure.

" _No_." His voice cut through the air, the determination in his narrowed eyes reaching her even through the broad distance. The ladder shook wilder the higher he climbed and even though he was aware of this, his desire to reach her was stronger than his fear of falling down. "You're coming down  _right now_."

Her eyebrows frowned, looking uneasy as she stared back down at him. She did not attempt to move and the young man grew frustrated. The ladder started to shake more uncontrollably, almost tilting as he climbed faster. He wanted to close the distance between them as quickly as possible.

"Wait – stay there," she called out, feeling the wood shake underneath her.

"Come here," he commanded instead, reaching his hand out to her.

"No," she glared back, locking her grip on the rung. "Climb back down first!"

He gritted his teeth, the frustration reflected into a heated glare. The wood objectively creaked as he took another step. Her eyes flashed when he grabbed hold of her ankle. "Stop being stubborn!"

Angrily, she tried to shake him off. " _I'm_  being stubborn!?" she yelled at him. "You're endangering us both! Get down and hold the darn ladder! It can't take both our w-.."

Her fingers twitched and her breath caught into her throat. In a second that seemed to last for an eternity, she slowly saw his blue eyes widen. She barely had time to part her lips and no words of warnings could be uttered.

The loud crash send a deafening echo through the ballroom.

For a moment, it was as if time stood still. There was only silence and the shock of the painful crash kept them both from moving. Her face was pressed firmly against his chest, his arms were still wrapped around her frame. In the last two seconds, he had managed to catch her and press her close against him. She had fallen on top of him and he had taken most of the hit.

She took a shaky breath, raising her head and staring back at him with two widened eyes. She blinked numerous times, her face pale and her lips parted. She seemed shaken when her eyes met his and for a moment he thought she looked... concerned. But reality quickly showered down on him and when she pulled herself up, the anger and resentment quickly returned in her eyes. The words she muttered weren't a kind 'thank you for catching me' or 'you look hurt, are you alright?' Instead they formed: "It's your own fault."

He shot her a foul look. He'd at least expected a little bit of compassion, but she was as brutal as always. He slowly tried to lift himself up, but the sudden sharp pain in his left shoulder made him wince, his hand instantly clutching it. "You're... welcome," he panted quietly as he sat up straight. The fall had knocked most air out of his lungs.

Two different colored eyes stared down at him, distant and cold. "Can you move it?"

He nodded, responding by moving his shoulder. A fracture was unlikely, but he could be expecting the largest bruise by tomorrow.

"Great," she voiced monotonously. "We still have to investigate the entire food and drink supply. If you had broken anything, I would only pity your own senseless idiocy. But since you have become my assistant in this investigation, it is an inconvenience that could slow it down."

His teeth clenched together. Damn that hurts. Both physically and mentally. He didn't expect any help, so he was surprised when she held out her hand. Still irritated at her cruel response, he didn't take it. Something flickered in the different-colored eyes that looked down on him. She forcefully grabbed his hand instead and with strength he had never expected from her tender built, she lifted him up.

"Don't you ever do anything as careless as that again," she warned him, before stepping away. He was groaning out of pain and frustration, forced to follow her towards the door.

 


	4. The Whisper

"Wait, when did you get your hands on the keys?"

Just a few minutes ago, the butler had requested them to lock all the first-floor rooms in preparation for the masquerade. While he understood the reason behind it – guests do have the tendency to wander off – he could not comprehend why he had asked this from the detective girl. At least, not until it became evident that she had the entire set of keys in her possession.

"I demanded them," she simply replied, closing and locking another door.

He raised his eyebrow at that. "...When? I was with you the whole time."

She smiled at him. "No, you weren't. You were sleeping."

For a moment, he could only blink. "Wait, this morning? You already went inside?"

She nodded. "Well, you  _were_  drooling rather soundly, besides..."

"Detective, there you are."

The low voice turned Len's head, stopping when the detective girl paused their conversation. She met the tall man with a produced smile on her face, greeting the person that hired her with convincing respect. "Mr. Callisford, what can I do for you?" she asked sweetly.

He did not mimic her fabricated exchange of pleasantries, sea-colored eyes glancing at him before resting at the young girl. There was a stressed frown on his face and for a moment, his lips parted as if he wanted to reply... but was distracted by something on her face. At least, that is what it looked like from Len's perspective. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to tell why he was staring that intensely at her from this close a distance.

"Mr. Callisford, however skilled I am, I cannot read thoughts. Is something a matter?" the detective girl asked.

For a moment, the man seemed to be taken aback. "Now I see...It is your hair..."

The writer had seen the change in the detective girl's expression. Her eyes had widened and her shoulders had tensed for just the fabric of a second. But she gave the man in front of her a large smile, as if he had just given her a compliment. "Do excuse my appearance," she told him. "I did not have much time to take care of it."

"...I believe," he then slowly responded. "...Perhaps we could speak more privately?"

This caused Rin to momentarily shift her gaze to the writer. "More privately, you ask?"

Len did not bother hiding his dislike for that plan. It was too much of a risk to share a private conversation with one of the possible suspects. And he could not exactly explain why, but this man had a certain coldness around him he just didn't like. "...Is my presence bothering you?" he voiced.

Keaton's sea-colored eyes now shifted to him, light irritation visible in them. "I believe it is in the detective's best interest," he stated. Ah, so the feeling was mutual.

"Her best interest?" Len repeated, already feeling restrained anger flare up inside him. "What would you know about– "

"Enough." The detective girl looked at him sternly, ordering his mouth shut with just one word. "I won't leave the hallway. Stay here."

He clenched his notebook a little too tight. She was treating him like a nuisance. "...Fine."

Keaton Callisford placed his hand on the back of her frame and led the young detective to the other side of the hallway. Leaving him alone to sulk against the nearest wall. Watching the two of them from a distance, he could not make out the words that were being transferred in a hushed tone, but the sudden look of anger stricken across the detective girl's expression did pique his curiosity.

Then, a flash of orange in the corner of his eye distracted him.

There, behind the large of Mr. Callisford senior, stood the hesitating figure of Lady Millina's close friend. Her eyebrows were knitted together and her lips were pressed into a thin line. Her light-colored green eyes took frequent glances towards the pair that were whispering at the end of the hallway, but it was clear that when their eyes met, it was him she was trying to approach. She beckoned him silently.

"...What are you doing over there," he asked, not even sure why he was keeping his own voice down. She pulled his arm once he was close enough, raising her finger to her lips. They were both hiding in a cramped spot now. "I do not want to be seen..." she whispered.

"By the detective girl?" he had to ask, raising his eyebrow at her.

She quickly shook her head. "No, no..." she protested. "By Keaton. You see, I..."

" _Len?!_ "

He almost sighed at the loud call from across the hallway. Nothing escapes that detective, not even a split second of disappearance. She could already hear her approaching steps onto the carpet. For a moment, Gillium Noverin looked incredibly insecure, nervously glancing around. "I can't let him..." she whispered softly.

"Right here!" he didn't hesitate to call back, causing the lady to flinch. He needed to let the detective know where he was, no matter if this lady wanted something different.

"Ah." Her frowned expression gave way for a hint of amusement. The detective girl shamelessly leaned against the statue, watching the both of them in renewed interest. "How cozy this seems. Any reason for it?" she asked.

"I – eh – well," the girl stuttered immediately. "You see, I was kind of... I was..."

"...Where did he go?" the writer asked instead, noticing Mr. Callisford's absence.

"We talked. He left," Rin replied indifferently.

The lady's shoulders loosened most of its tension. Taking a step away from her, he looked the detective girl straight in the eye. "Is there anything I need to pen down?"

"No," she met him with a mysterious smile. "That will not be necessary."

The young lady with hair that synchronized the color of spring leaves, wrapped her own arms around her. "It is not... we did not purposely appear intimate... I just..."

The detective girl glanced at him before stepping closer, forcing the lady to meet her eyes with a firm grip on her chin. "I could not care less," she declared. "What I want to know is what you were willing to tell my assistant just now."

Len's eyes widened and the girl's cheeks flushed a deep red.

"I..." Gillium blinked numerous times. "I... was... I need... I..."

"You obviously came here to tell  _him_  something, so spit it out," she demanded.

His hand firmly clasped around her wrist, forcing her to release the lady's face. Annoyance flared across the detective's expression. "Not only are you acting unnecessarily rude, how do you expect any information out of her with an attitude like that?" Len glared at her, before releasing her. "Can't you see she's troubled? She came to me, because you were already part of another conversation."

An icy laughter, void from any amusement, rang through the hallway. "Ah, is that so?" she expressed. "I do apologize for misunderstanding! Since I am most incapable of sharing normal conversations, I have no choice but to step back and let you take the lead."

He frowned disapprovingly at her. "Don't act this – "

Her round eyes stared back at him. "Childish?" she filled in. "No, I am merely promoting you. Please perform this interrogation by yourself." There was a strange gleam in her eyes. "Go ahead and play the part of the detective... I'm sure that you will do well."

He tensed.

"Wait..." Gillium's voice wavered. "I am here because I searched for you both. I want, no, what I need to tell you is..." She stared at her hands, fumbling them together. "I..."

"Don't keep us waiting," the detective girl warned her.

Len ignored her for a moment and focused on the nervous young woman who he needed to reassure. "We might be able to prevent a crime from happening," he said to her. "If there is anything you know... Anything at all."

Gillium nodded. "I- I know that, that is why... I... I do not know who send that letter... or if the information I have is relevant... but I really want you to catch the criminal before it is too late... I want to know that I did everything to prevent it."

He nodded sternly. The green-haired lady avoided the gaze of the detective girl and spoke directly to him instead. "This castle has belonged to the Callisford family for decades," she began. "It has been used as a wedding gift that is handed down from son to son..." She bit her lip, taking a breath before continuing. "...If a Lady has given birth to more than one son, these grounds are given to the firstborn..."

"That didn't happen, did it?" the detective girl quickly concluded.

Her green eyes flashed over her anxiously, before locking eyes with Len once more. "The previous Lady... had trouble keeping her unborn children..." she stated sadly. "She and her husband were older when she managed to give birth to her sons. Gaillard had a fiancée, but she died just a month before the wedding because of pneumonia. He refused to marry another lady for years and by the time he had fallen in love with his wife Lucia, his parents were no longer alive to watch the ceremony. Since the castle had always been transferred as a wedding gift... and Keaton had already married before they passed away... Well..."

"I see..." Len muttered, folding his arms together. "He used it as a way to obtain these grounds, despite his position as the second son."

The lady nodded, her eyes fixated on the ground. "Even though they set aside their differences, I have heard that their relationship had become strained... Now when I watch them together, they both remain distant..." she spoke. "I need you... to stop this murder. I cannot bear the thought of... my friend left as a widow."

Len gently held her hand and smiled. "Thank you very much for being brave. We will try to prevent any murder from happening, I promise." The young woman was flustered and spluttered a small: "You're welcome..." before turning away. This was obviously something she had shared in secret. Staying longer would heighten the risk of getting caught and now that they had the information out of her, her presence was no longer required. The detective girl followed his gaze, watching the young woman disappear around the corner.

"My, what a performance," her voice rang quietly behind him. "The act of 'knight in shining armor' was flawless."

"...Do you even  _want_  to prevent this murder?" he sighed deeply, running his hand through his bangs.

" _Do_   _you_?" Her tone was what made him stiffen. Turning his head, blue eyes glanced behind his shoulder, meeting the contrasting colors of her vibrant irises. "Mr. Writer," her low feminine voice rang. "What you need is a front page article. What I need is the conviction of a murderer. We both have selfish motivations, so let us not pretend that we are good people now."

He averted his gaze, breathing out a low sigh. "...That's horrible."

"If someone has to die in order for us to do our jobs, does that make us horrible, or just the work given to us?" she mused. "Sense of morality is rare nowadays."

"...I still..." he muttered then. "Dislike the thought of it."

She let out a long breath herself. "I would like to say that it makes you a hypocrite... but I can sort-of relate to that feeling." He looked up and she met him with such a desolate smile on her face, that he felt his heartbeat quicken at the sincerity of that expression. "Ah, if only reality would have endings similar to those of children's story books..." she told him.

"Saving everyone and capture the fair maiden's heart..." he trailed.

She laughed. "...How wonderfully dull that would be."

* * *

 

"...You didn't unpack."

That was the first thing he mentioned when they entered her guest bedroom. And looking at her messy, open suitcase in the middle of the room, she could only applaud him for his observation skills. "Keep that up and you can continue doing my job," she replied, a hint of amusement visible in her sharp smile.

"So why did you want to come back here?" he asked her.

"Take a seat and we can discuss tonight's program," the detective girl said, directing him to one of the armchairs. He obliged but could not help but feel like there was more to it. Why else would she lead him back to the privacy of her guest bedroom?

He sank into the decorative flower-patterned armchair, looking up expectably. She didn't move to take a seat herself, opting to keep standing.

"My dearest assistant, tonight will be the night that the culprit will show himself," she stated. "We need to be fully prepared for that moment."

"Will he though," Len begged to different. "He will try to keep a low profile and commit the murder discretely. He will hope to blend in with the crowd and strike when we let down our guards."

"Exactly," the detective girl nodded. "That is why we  _won't_  let down out guard."

The writer folded his arms together, repressing the urge to sigh. "Too naïve," he declared. "Even you cannot keep your eyes and ears on everyone in the room. There are too many people and it only needs a minor distraction to avert attention."

"It all depends on the proper position," Rin countered.

"Even so, how are you planning to keep your eye on approximately seventy guests walking and dancing around?"

She looked down on him, parting her lips and taking a breath.

"No, you will lose this case if you do that," he interrupted immediately, causing the detective girl to stiffen. "You need to keep your eyes open for any possibility."

"Thank you for your concern, but I am well aware of that," she answered, placing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Besides, I already know exactly how we'll be able to keep an eye on our guests for tonight."

The writer had to be a little skeptic about that. "Is that so?" he asked. "And how might that be?"

Her different colored eyes almost seemed to contain a sparkle. "By blending in," she simply smiled.


	5. The Warning

He lost her. How exactly did that happen?

They had entered the dining room together, joining the Callisford family and their acquaintances for dinner, but she had excused herself at the soup and never returned for the main course. He started to grow sincerely agitated when dessert arrived. The variety of speculations on her whereabouts in his thoughts alone were enough for him to lose his appetite and he excused himself off as well, deciding to look for her.

He searched every area they had been together; the kitchen to inspect the bottles of wine, the ballroom to investigate the chandeliers... He even went back to his own guest room to see if she had returned there. When there was not a single sign for the detective girl, he did not hesitate to expand his search area into more abandoned places. He could not tell why she would disappear on her own like that, by herself, on an evening where a murder was promised upon. She was being far too reckless.

He restlessly wandered through the hallways, opening every door he could open. Every single door on the first floor was locked and he found several locked doors in his search on the other floors as well. She did hold a set of keys, but she wouldn't have locked herself in, right?

He already knew it, but walking around the building did give one more perspective of its size... it was absolutely immense. He needed to keep his full attention to the direction he was following, or he would find himself lost.

Finally, on the side wing on the fourth floor, he stepped into a darker hallway. Curtains were still closed, keeping natural light from entering through the windows. There was only silence around him and he could frown at the thick atmosphere this abandoned hallway radiated... but this was one of the last places he could still check.

Not one of the doors was locked and he found out that most of the rooms were used for storage. It explained why this area of the castle seemed to receive less visitors.

When his hand turned the last doorknob, the smallest sound made him pause. A soft step onto a thick carpet that did not belong to him. Right behind him.

"Milady," he exhaled. It took him a second to realize that he should be releasing her. The wrist he had grabbed tightly, belonged to Lucia Callisford-Vincostre.

Her sky blue eyes held both suspicion and surprise, taking her hand back and clutching it. "You are quite jumpy," her low voice almost seemed to accuse.

"Well, for a moment I was afraid that I would be tonight's victim," Len stated in response. "...You did sneak up on me."

He hadn't noticed this at the dining table, but the lady with the color of cherry-blossom painted in her hair, was almost a full head taller than him. She easily towered over him, looking down at him. Her eyes were as cold as the detective girl's and her eyes held the same judgment. "You left halfway through dinner," she voiced. "And now you are searching through every room like that. You are quite suspicious, boy."

She was obviously a few years older than him, but he still felt insulted by the degrading word. "I'm searching for my employee," he stated. "And so far I haven't f–"

"That weird girl?" she interrupted him. She apparently didn't feel the need to keep her opinion to herself. "Well, you won't find her here, or anywhere else in the castle."

Maybe it was simply his dislike for this lady that made him question her choice of words. "...What do you mean?" he asked.

"That you can turn this place upside down, but... you will never find her," she smiled.

He felt his heart leap in his chest and suddenly he was aware of how suspicious this lady's appearance in the hallway was. While he had come here to search for the detective girl, he could just about place a bet that she didn't come here to find someone. "What did you do to her?" he snarled.

The lady seemed surprised by his defensive stance and chuckled softly. When she moved his arm, he thought that she was going to hit him. But instead, she pat his head gently. "Aren't you cute?" she said. "Like a puppy, you are, trying to protect the hand that feeds you..."

He bit the inside of his cheek and narrowed his eyes. "I'll give you five seconds to state her exact location."

"When you look at me like that, you make it feel like I am the one responsible for her disappearance," Lucia sighed. "I am not. Stop being stiff like that, she is perfectly fine. I passed her on her way outside. I believe that she is in the garden."

He let out a long breath. "...You could have just told me."

"I did not think you would be that loyal," Lucia responded, her sharp blue eyes watching him. "You seem like a good kid. I want you to watch your back."

" _Why?_ " he voiced. "Are you threatening me?"

Her gaze was harsh. "No," she replied. "I am wary of your owner..."

Wary of the one person that was hired to solve the mystery? Well, he had to admit that Rin was certainly something different. With her random laughter, her lack of compassion, her sharp attitude and her judging eyes, she did not seem to be too concerned with the image she presented. That people would start to get cautious of her, seemed something unavoidable. But... actually finding her suspicious?

The sky-blue eyes of the lady then seemed to soften and she almost seemed to pity him. "I would like  _you_  to stay alive at the very least..." she mumbled.

He felt his pulse quicken that instant. Lucia's piercing blue eyes stared into his, her gaze lingering for a moment. They held knowledge, information... He parted his lips, but no words left his throat. He had so many questions, yet none at all.

After all... didn't he already know who she was talking about?

He flinched when her hand touched the top of his head once more, before turning away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He did not call after her. She had given him a warning just now, to stay on his guard about the detective girl.

It confirmed the suspicion he had uttered towards Rin in the carriage this morning.

That the young woman... the previous assistant of the detective girl.... did not just simply disappear.

* * *

 

The grounds around the castle rivaled the building in size, but the detective girl had been surprisingly easy to find. Surrounded by the green bushes and red roses, her blonde hair stuck out like a lost dandelion.

Somehow, it made sense for her to have hidden herself in the rose garden area. It was the first place he visited. It just seemed to suit her more than the apple trees or the grape ranks. He could not entirely explain why, but it was a feeling he just had.

He stepped beside her, but she didn't seem surprised by his presence. In fact, at first glance he wasn't sure if she'd noticed him at all. She did not look up or acknowledge him in any way. The darkening sky casted a shadow on the garden, making his presence less obvious. The sun had already set and it started to get colder. Night was about to fall.

Surprisingly delicate, the blonde girl held one of the perfectly bloomed roses, stroking its petals softly. He noticed that she didn't wear her detective hat or cape. It didn't take him long to notice that the two lied abandoned on the grass. With a cold wind blowing, he couldn't imagine why she'd taken them off in the first place, but he wouldn't complain about it. Right now, she looked very peaceful.

"...Dinner already finished?" she spoke softly, her eyes still set on the red rose.

He took a step closer to her, lightly touching her shoulder, before asking: "Why did you leave me behind... I was worried about you."

She closed her eyes for a moment, both of her hands folding around the rose, as if she was embracing it. "...The masquerade will start in an hour..." the girl whispered in the open air.

In that dress, in the semi-darkness of the evening, he felt a feeling stir in his chest.

He had not forgotten the warning and it had occupied his thoughts on his way here. But right now, her presence seemed to relax him. He couldn't help but feel at ease when she looked so vulnerable in the night sky. With little time left to the masquerade he wondered... did she come here to calm her nerves?

"Do you like roses?" he asked softly.

She finally met his gaze. A graceful smile appeared on her face, soft, warm and full of light."I love them," she whispered, leaning in to nuzzle her cheek against one. "They smell nice, they look beautiful... and only sting when you try harm them."

He felt himself exhale softly. In this garden, he lost himself in her eyes. He had the feeling he finally... understood her. Even though she got on his nerves a lot, there were short moments like this, where she felt... more than just the 'red-eyed detective'. She felt like a young lady, burdened by a heavy and dangerous job. It was as if she was showing him her true nature, one that was normally hidden away between thick layers of self-protection.

In this peaceful garden, with that beautiful smile on her face, the words and warnings of Lady Lucia were easily forgotten.

In an impulse, the young man wrapped his arms around the detective girl. She froze in his hold. The side of her cheek was pressed against his chest and with each passing second, she could hear his heartbeat. She didn't look up, nor did she move away. Parting her lips, it took a few moments for her to find her voice. "...Why are you doing this?" came the low whisper.

"For you..." His tone was soft and warm and he realized that he was trying to calm the young woman down. She was stiff in his arms and without doubt, uncomfortable. He closed his eyes for a moment and wished that he had the ability to make her adapt to this. The words almost left his mouth before he could stop himself. "You are..."

Realizing his mistake, the sentence died away in the wind. There was a long moment of silence in which he wished she wouldn't ask upon it. But, she was the detective girl, wasn't she?

"Am... what?" she asked him. There was sincere curiosity in her voice.

It took him a while to find the right words for his next sentence. "Nervous," he finally responded, his grip slacking, aware that he had to let her go now. "For the masquerade," he quickly added.

Now that his embrace had loosened, she took the initiative to take a step back. She tilted her head and locked her eyes with him. Her eyes were large and he saw the confusion in them disappear into understanding. "Ah... I see..." she muttered. "You were the nervous one, weren't you?" she exclaimed."You could have told me that you wanted to settle your own nerves."

He averted his gaze and smiled at the roses. Silently, he plucked a single petal off a rose. He admired the dark red color, a color symbolizing both love and war. He blew against the petal and it danced in the air. He could see her eyes following the petal, as it disappeared between the bushes.

"You know..." he started, his fingertips brushing against the same rose she had taken interest in before. "You were the one being careless this time."

"Careless?" she repeated, gazing at him with interest. That beautiful smile she wore sharpened and everything innocent about her presence faded into an expression he was more familiar with. "How was I careless?" she questioned.

He now regretted bringing the subject up in the first place. He did not think that he would need to elaborate on it. But here she was, already staring at him as if he had issued her a challenge and she wouldn't allow him to back out of this now. "...I mean, at your detective agency," he started, recalling how she had been waiting for him behind the door. "You told me that I would have died if you had carried a weapon on you. That I let down my guard too much."

"Oh," she mentioned, folding her arms to let her digit rest thoughtfully on her chin. "Is that how you feel? That I am being too careless around you?" she mused.

He could not help but frown at her amused expression. "You know I don't... I just want you to realize that the things you do are often unnecessarily reckless. Like climbing that ladder, or yes, even talking to me in an abandoned garden. What if I did carry a weapon with me and wanted to harm you?" he asked.

She suddenly grinned and her eyes sparkled. "The likeliness was small."

He fell silent, his parted lips closing.

"Do not underestimate me. I calculate everything beforehand," she stated, patting him on the shoulder, before stepping away from him and reaching for her belongings.

He turned around in surprise and a small laugh escaped his lips. "I guess you're right," he had to admit.

With one swift movement, she threw the cape around herself and secured it. She then reached for her hat and placed it upon her short blonde hair.

"I believe it's time for the last preparations, or we will be late," she said, turning around to face him. "The masquerade will start in an hour." The sweetness had left her voice. He knew that she was once again the detective and he was her assistant. They knew the roles they played well and the distance that belonged to them. He wouldn't not openly complain about it. Right now, they had a job that needed to be accomplished. The time they had before the masquerade was quickly ticking away.

 


	6. The Masquerade

The clock's hand pointed to a with gold decorated number eight. The castle's ballroom was already packed. Most of the guests had arrived early and despite the bad weather that had been predicted, it seemed like everyone invited had come. In the first half hour alone the Callisford family butler had crossed every name on the list and the detective girl was quick to verify this. While the butler accepted all the invitations, Lady Millina greeted each guest enthusiastically, thanking everyone for coming.

"She looks beautiful, doesn't she?" the detective girl commented slyly when he kept his gaze on the lady for longer than two seconds. He wanted to deny it, but knew that most of the crowd shared her opinion. With her long turquoise hair in soft, loose curls and an expensive pearl headdress and necklace, she eyed like a rare gem. The pure white decorative ball gown illuminated her appearance and the mask she wore only complimented her beauty. It framed her vibrant aquamarine eyes alone, but the simple silhouette of the mask was compensated with expensive pearls and crystals.

In her excitement, or perhaps even naiveté, she didn't seem to notice the foul glances from the ladies nor the lustful stares of the gentlemen.

"How wonderful to see you two dressed up," her soft voice cooed affectionately when she saw the chance to greet them. "Why, that mask looks absolutely stunning on you." The detective girl had to admit that the mask was indeed the strongest part of the entire outfit. Like golden thread it spun a decorative pattern around the eyes and most of the cheeks. One could say that it was almost a shame that blonde hair loosely fell on top of it; the lock of hair hid most of the left side of the mask as well. The dress that shared the same golden color, was simple, yet elegant and obviously made to match with it.

"Those sleeves and skirt certainly make your waist look small, dividing attention to the stronger points of your undeveloped body," Millina smiled gently.

She had stated that so casually that the detective girl nearly burst out laughing at the insulting compliment. At least it was meant as a praise.

"Ah I see and you are dressed as a servant tonight," the lady commented then. She glanced at the dark-blue pants and the matching waistcoat resting upon a clean crème-colored blouse. "They are a little big on you, aren't they; my butler's clothes? I don't mind you borrowing them, as long as you won't forget to return them afterwards."

This caused Len to raise his eyebrow at the detective girl. "You didn't ask her permission first?" he exclaimed.

"Not specifically," she casually replied.

The Lady stepped closer, her fingers wrapping around the blue tie that was knotted perfectly, but rested on the waistcoat instead of being tugged away. She quickly fixed that small error and smiled brightly. "There," she said. "A servant of mine should be properly dressed." She was enjoying this role-play a little too much. "I shouldn't have worn high heels though, I seem to be taller than you now." Her with lace gloved hand gently pinched the cheek of her undercover servant. "...Or did you shrink?" she teased. The way her eyes seemed to sparkle, the sharp curl of her smile... The detective girl hadn't given her enough credit, but this lady had the ability to see things others would overlook.

"This is already a success," Lady Lucia commented behind her, stepping into the conversation with two glasses of champagne in her hand.

People were entertaining themselves with alcohol and small-talk. The musicians had started playing a few minutes ago and a handful of couples had already entered the dance area. It was going very well. "This is a masquerade, please wear your mask," Millina commented gently, accepting the glass of champagne from her. "You will be anonymous and thus be allowed to dance with any man you please. Besides, it looks wonderful on you."

With a defeated sigh, Lucia covered half her face with her mask. It was a stunning silver mask, decorated with blue lines and crystals. It covered her eyes and part of her cheeks. There were feathers on both sides of the mask, framing her face. The dress she wore was light blue and had the same feathers. It was decorated with silver lines, making the mask and dress a perfect match. Her long hair was placed in a large complex bun, accentuating her creamy bare shoulders, something that was considered daring at such a high society party.

"Now everyone on the guest list has arrived," Len voiced.

"Yes," Lady Millina immediately acknowledged. "There were a number of guests that needed to take off their masks, but unfortunately that was something we could not avoid."

The detective girl locked eyes with the writer and nodded. "We won't keep you any longer," she told them. "Try to enjoy the party. We will be around if you need us."

"What are you planning to do now that everyone has arrived?" the writer asked then, following her. He wanted some clearance. She had been rather vague and evading when he asked her the details of her plan. She hadn't given him a proper explanation for dressing him up and her motivation behind her choice of disguise still remained unclear. Nonetheless, he had been mature enough to comply with her plan.

Out of her pocket then appeared the large set of keys and she gave him a scheming smile, handing the set to him. "I will give you the honor," she stated.

Now she was just teasing him. "The honor of what?" he had to ask.

"I suggest that you start paying attention. All of the guests have arrived and no one is expected to enter the castle any longer," she claimed. "If you had bothered to count the maids, you would know that every servant but the gardener and the chef are present in this ballroom. Oh. And the butler just now left as well... how convenient."

Len frowned at the set of keys. "I really cannot follow you sometimes. Will you please answer the question for once, instead of making your answers too cryptic to understand?" he asked her. "I'm beginning to think you're doing it on purpose."

"Don't be like that," the detective girl pouted. "I promoted you, haven't I?"

He took an immediate breath, one she cut off by clasping her hand on top of his. "Take the keys..." she explained. "And lock the doors."

His eyes widened at that, hesitating before leaning closer. "...You want to lock them up?" he tried to reaffirm. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am very serious," the detective girl simply answered.

"No, no, wait," he stated, his fingers curling around hers. "There are more than seventy people inside; if they grow aware that they're locked up, panic will break out. And what if anything happens? If there is some kind of emergency and the doors are locked... then that murder won't be committed by the culprit you seek out."

She had to stiffen a chuckle, halfheartedly trying to mask it. "You really have a good sense of humor sometimes. I am talking about the servants, of course."

"You... want to lock up the servants," he slowly repeated. "...Yes, of course that makes a lot more sense."

"I dislike loose ties," she stated, as if it was something that simple. "The gardener and chef won't be in my line of sight for the entire evening and it is a butler's task to keep walking around. Why not take this opportunity to prove their innocence?"

"...By locking them up," he repeated. "Can't you see how wrong that is?"

She didn't seem fazed. "They will thank me afterwards."

Loudly, the musicians started the tune to a most familiar balled; the waltz. Since most of the guests had already exchanged formal pleasantries, it wasn't a surprise that most couples took this opportunity to start dancing.

"Wonderful distraction," she then announced. Closing the large white doors of the ballroom behind her, she pulled his hand and proceeded along. "After this, we will go our separate ways. You know your task. I will keep an eye on you, so you won't have to worry. If the culprit tries to snatch you away, I will step in and protect you." Her childlike smirk caused him to take her words only half-serious.

He sighed to himself. He could honestly not wait for this charade to end.

* * *

 

In the mix of dancing pairs, a pair of black heels clicked against the marble floor as the young adolescent slipped into the crowd, fulfilling part of this important duty by moving along the rhythm of the music. The golden-colored dress seemed to sparkle with each movement and it was difficult not to stand out wearing such a colorful outfit. But it was part of the assignment to be recognizable as the detective girl. That was the plan they had debated upon, a plan they both agreed to. Joining the dance was the indeed an effective way to keep a close eye on their suspects as long as they were on the dance floor.

It wasn't to find a dance partner either. After consuming at least one glass of wine, most single men had worked up enough courage to ask a lady of choice to dance. And enough time has already passed for couples to part from each other's side, now daring to dance with other available partners. The rules of the masquerade allowed them this, regardless if they were married, engaged or single.

As the music continued on, the blonde adolescent danced with several men, accidently missing a couple of steps in the beginning, but quickly learning from the mistakes. Be it young or old, it really didn't matter who initiated the next dance. Unless men and women were a couple, it wasn't proper to spend more than one dance with a partner anyway, unless there was a romantic interest. And most men quickly caught unto the clear lack of interest. Not that it bothered the blonde, who was too occupied to care. The culprit demanded enough attention.

Eyes momentarily shifted to the person that symbolized the other half of their strategy; the servant that was circling around the ballroom, carrying glasses of wine towards the guests. Blonde hair was neatly combed back into a short ponytail and bangs too short to be tied back fell unevenly in front of a friendly smiling face. Working together with a group of maids certainly opened a window of opportunity to watch those young girls closely as well.

Despite a few less fortunate experiences – one particular imbecile of a dance partner liked to step on shoes – it was the right decision to join the dance, as well as observe from the sidelines. That way they could observe the suspects from both angles; a well-thought-out strategy indeed.

Gaillard and Lucia were easily spotted; they have not moved from each other's side since they started dancing. Keaton Callisford stayed on the dance floor as well, but with a different dance partner during each song. Lady Gillium, in her colorful pink dress and matching mask, was asked to dance by several men and smiled brightly at the attention. Only Lady Millina was found at the sidelines, talking to a few other ladies over a glass of champagne.

Another song ended and another song started. But instead of being released to find a new dance partner, he kept their hands locked together: the young man with the simple mask that wore a kind smile. He had seemed average, from his height down to his brown eyes. He hadn't been worth a second glance, but yet here he was, purposely drawing attention back to him. "Would you care for a second dance, milady?" he asked, as his lips pressed against bare skin.

The blonde's eyes narrowed immediately, a murderous glint in those orbs."Get lost."

The cold response made the man tense, before carefully stepping away. The words were taken into account and the man left to find another dance partner. The young adolescent did not bother to do the same, feet now aching painfully for a break. How women would voluntarily put on these shoes was a mystery in itself. Wearing these for the first time was already a terrible experience, how would anyone wish to wear them daily?

"You look a bit uncomfortable," a low voice rang. The long purple hair and the sight of those same sea-colored eyes glistering behind a mask, unmistakably belonged to Gaillard Callisford. Without hesitation, he led the next dance the blonde hadn't even wanted to partake in. But since he had initiated this dance himself, curiosity easily gained the upper hand.

Through the eyes of the society around them, there was nothing wrong with this picture. It would just be a coincidence to share a dance with this particular lady.

However, staring in the intelligent blue eyes of the man, the realization grew that this was anything but a coincidence. Being recognized as the detective girl had its advantages if it was a way to obtain more information; wasn't that the whole point?

The words of Lady Gillium suddenly seemed to echo back. This was a man who lost everything to his younger brother through foul play. Who knew what this man was capable of? He was strong and broad enough to commit murder and seemed intelligent enough as well. However, appearances were often deceiving...

"I've been waiting for a chance to speak with you privately," he then spoke softly.

"You have? Why is that?" Being pushed closer made the blonde tense, the distance between them now of a couple's rather than two random dance partners. Only the promise of information kept hands from crawling towards the man's exposed throat.

Gaillard slowly leaned down to whisper: "Watch the Lady's friend closely."

"...Really?" Lady Gillium had warned them about this man, and now it was the exact way around. How amusing was that...

Sea-colored eyes narrowed slightly, a hesitating frown on his face. "My wife doesn't trust you," he continued. "I must say that I had my doubts about you as well. However, her conspiracy theories are a little farfetched. That young woman over there has more motive to commit murder than you do."

"...Continue," was the intriguing response.

The taller male leaned in once more. The music and voices around them would surely drown the low whisper of the older male. And the blonde held a breath when the information was transferred and sank in. "...You mean..." was voiced breathlessly.

"This was for your ears only," he explained, his eyes lingering for a moment more. The song had already ended and couples were starting to switch partners. It wasn't appropriate for them to dance more than one song and the tall male left in time with the soothing music.

Well... this was definitely interesting. Sharp eyes skimmed the ballroom and quickly spotted the figure at the sidelines. The undercover servant had been caught up in a conversation and had missed the exchange of information completely. The young dancer knew that it needed to be kept that way. Lips stretched in a knowing smile; perhaps this will be figured out later on, but for now, this information will not be shared with anyone else. Having fun was an important reason for being here; making these things too easy would be too dull for the detective girl.

* * *

 

The blonde servant returned a smile to the lady who took one of the glasses from the silver plate. There were other maids walking around to serve the guests with alcohol, but women often bluntly ignored them, wishing to be served by the only male servant.

Being a servant had seemed like the perfect opportunity to work from the shadows, but the female population seemed to disagree. Most of the ones that did not join the waltz, would at least try to start a conversation. While a mere servant of the Callisford family should not dare to object, this remained an undercover job. Despite their creative attempts to keep the youth from leaving, they were always left by themselves after a couple of minutes. There was no time to stand still and the blonde would not be distracted.

Circling around the ballroom had worked wondrous so far; none of them had been out of sight for longer than a couple of minutes.

"Oh, young man, come over here, sweetie!"

It was sometimes challenging not to roll eyes at some of the ladies that demanded service. The women that called out with a nickname or with an evident slur in their voices were often touchy; something that went unappreciated. And this lady creatively combined the two, making her both drunk and flirtatious. Pretending not to hear her was the easiest solution. She really didn't need another glass of wine.

Repositioning the stray locks of hair, the servant eased the feeling of annoyance by watching the golden figure within the dancing crowd. Ah, it was only a matter of time before that man would initiate a dance. He had tried to woo every woman he danced with so far.

"You are watching her closely as well, I see," Lady Lucia commented, her low voice carrying a hint of resentment.

Eyes shifted to the cherry-blossom haired female. "I wouldn't dare keeping my eyes off her," the servant smiled. "I don't want her to run off without me."

The lady knitted her eyebrows together in a frown, before taking the silver plate with both hands. Not permitting any sound of protest, she placed it down on the nearest table. "She is dancing the night away, while letting you carry wineglasses around," she stated. "It is ridiculous for her to have fun while you have to do all the work."

"I have to disagree with you," the servant replied. "We are both carrying out our jobs in a different way. She is working just as hard as I am."

The older female fought to repress a sigh. "I see your loyalty is hard to break." She then reached for a glass of wine on that plate and started sipping on it. "Ask Millina for a dance," she commented quietly.

"What, why?" the blonde immediately objected.

" _Because_ ," she loudly claimed, clenching the wineglass a little tight as blue eyes coldly gazed at the dancing crowd. "She will need the distraction."

Following the lady's gaze was enough to grow aware of the situation. "...Oh," was the only response that could be uttered. It was tempting to pity Lady Millina, even without knowing the details of the matter. "How long already?"

"Too long. Dance with her," Lucia repeated once more. "I never told you this."

The servant nodded quietly, forfeiting the plate and stepping towards the lady in the beautiful white dress. Since observing her had been part of their task to begin with, the blonde was aware that a number of men had already asked her for a dance. She had politely turned every offer down, but the smile she gave them grew bitter over time. "...I was asked to offer you a dance."

Millina blinked, her deep aquamarine eyes holding confusing as she stared back.

"But I have the feeling that you will turn me down as well."

Her shoulders were tense and her gaze averted when she answered. "I do love these kind of parties..." Her tone had a hint of sadness in it.

The young servant gently placed a hand on her arm. She stirred, but did not move away. Her eyes met the color of blue in a quick glance, before looking down once more. " ...I just wanted..." The whisper was barely hearable above the sharp violin sound.

Only a soft sigh could be expressed at the following silence. The lady seemed ready to burst out in tears at any given moment. "I know. I understand," was replied, hoping that the lady would listen to comforting words.

Millina then parted her lips, taking a small breath. "You know, I..."

"Mommy, mommy!" The high pitched voice cut through the conversation as a young girl ran towards them on her bare feet, carrying a proud smile on her face. Her brown hair was no longer divided by two pigtails and hang loosely past her shoulders. The child took hold of the edges of her long white nightgown and twirled around. "I look just like you now!" she exclaimed. Her brown eyes seemed to sparkle as she looked up at her mother in the hopes of receiving a praise. But the aquamarine eyes of the lady, filled with unshed tears, only stared down at the girl that had snuck out of her bedroom, stiffening at her appearance. "...Why is she out of bed?"

People who watched the scene chuckled in amusement and continued on with their conversations, completely unaware of how this particular scene could create a ripple that could bring forward disaster. Millina seemed to understand; she lost more color with each passing second. "She can't be here. She just can't be here," she expressed. "Why is she here? Why is no one with her!?"

Large, doe-like eyes looked up to her mother and the servant fell silent. There were only a handful of people in this room that could understand her panic. There was a threat to commit murder and the mere thought of their child in danger would make any mother lose composure.

"Why is no one taking care of that – "

"Julie!" Arms wrapped around the small frame of the little girl, the surprise causing her to break into a fit of giggles. "Hello there! Why are you out of bed?" Gillium Noverin asked.

"Bathroom. I couldn't find Hanna to take me," the girl answered.

"Well, the maids are a little busy at the moment..." For a moment, light-colored green eyes glanced at them, before putting the little girl down and ruffling her already messy hair. "I can take her upstairs for you," she offered to her friend.

Millina shook her head. "No," she stated. "I will bring her myself."

"Absolutely not," the servant cut in. "Neither of you is allowed to leave the ballroom."

Aquamarine eyes narrowed. "Ridiculous. She can't stay. I won't allow such a thing."

"Len," Gillium then called quietly. "Can you not bring her? While I fully understand that none of us are allowed to leave, perhaps you can – ?"

"I have to stay here." the blonde stiffly responded. "I can't afford to leave either."

The teal-haired lady grasped the hand of her daughter tight. "Fine," she stated coldly. "If you refuse to cooperate, I will have to ask 'the detective' for permission."

The logic of that decision was hard to argue with, but the servant clutched the hem of her white dress tightly anyway, forcing the lady to turn back her attention. "Please listen to me for your own safety. Do not leave this ballroom."

Something flickered in those aquamarine eyes and the two of them exchanged a lengthy glance. Perhaps it was the determination in that sentence that caused the lady to pause, or perhaps it was something that could only be understood between the two of them. But in the end, it did not matter. Millina shook her head and pulled away.

The blonde sighed. "Please don't make me regret this decision..."

Gillium's head turned and her green eyes contained curiosity, but the servant did not linger to answer any questions.

"Here. We need your help as well." The bucket of water and soap was almost thrown in the hands of the undercover servant, liquid spilling around the edges. The start of a protest was silenced with a stern look in those icy blue eyes. "I'm sorry, but the faster this is cleaned up, the faster  _we_  can get back to work as well," she stated, waving some of her lengthy platinum-blonde locks back. The servant glanced down at the decorative flower pinned to the uniform and recalled her name; one identical to the flower she was wearing. When she turned to another maid, the youth planted the heavy bucket firmly on the ground. This was an absolute disaster. Millina had been gone for a while now and their suspects had left to the hallway with the other guests. Who knew that alcohol that would be the main cause for this disorder? Not even the shimmering color of gold had been visible for the last ten minutes. Everyone that should be in a direct line of sight, was no longer there.

It was silly, simple and childish. Guests that drank more alcohol then they could handle had danced and flirted around inappropriately. Partners that had become jealous initiated the loud arguments that flared up within the dance floor. Keeping an eye on the Callisford family and their acquaintances became rather challenging, but once a man hit another man for dancing with his betrothed twice, everything escalated. There was no telling when or where everyone was once the wineglasses were picked up and thrown around. The shattered glass frightened the guests and this caused more and more people to get involved. When the two that started the fight were eventually overpowered by a group of men, the damage had already been done. Half the ballroom was covered in glass and liquid.

Gaillard Callisford was the one that stepped forward and apologized for the situation. Calmly, he asked the guests to remain in the hallway until everything was cleaned up, promising that it would only take a couple of minutes. Despite of that, a large number of guests had decided to leave early and it was impossible to know who had stayed and who had already left. Not to mention that all of the maids – including the servant – were forced to clean up the mess by themselves. Alone.

At least all twelve maids were in the ballroom at the present time, but that did not lift the blonde's sullen mood. Being forced to pick up glass and mob while their suspects could be absolutely anywhere, was enough to scrub the floor in an aggressive manner. It did not take long before the already small amount of patience ran out and the alcohol-soaked cloth was thrown hastily at the floor. This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. There were far more important thing to do.

Raising from the floor and wiping wet hands dry at the side of the overly large cotton pants, the blonde maid immediately reacted to the lack of labour. "Where are you going?" she asked, or more like demanded.

"I need to be somewhere else," the youth responded.

The woman placed the bucket of water in her hands down, her heels clicking against the marble as she crossed the dance floor. "Listen, I know that you really aren't part of our team, but you will blow your cover if you waltz out of this room. Besides, we-"

The ground shook and it was as if something exploded in the room; its deafening crash loud enough to shake every individual currently inside the castle. The shatter of a hundred crystals clattered through the ballroom and pieces of crystal flew in every thinkable direction.

Curling shaking fingers around the woman's shoulders, the servant took a deep breath. "Are-are you alright?" The maid, whose whole body was trembling, nodded quietly. The both of them had lost their balance when the chandelier crashed right behind her. If she had not taken that last step, they would have had to clean up the mess of a trampled flower.

"Oh my God!"

The first cry of abhorrence was expressed and that initiated a chain reaction. In a matter of seconds, a crowd formed around them and hands started to seize them up. Some of the guests that had been talking in the hallway, had come bursting in when they heard the crash and it were the hands of those men that lifted them up.

"Lily, Lily!" the quivering voice of another maid cried out when she pulled the blonde woman in a tight hug. Her hair was snow-white and her chestnut-colored eyes were filled with tears. "Oh thank God! Thank God you are alright!"

Feeling a sudden sharp pull, the young adolescent flinched. " _Len_ ," a familiar voice panted. Worried sky-blue eyes stared back and the youth nearly breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the cherry blossom-haired female. "Are you alright?" Lucia asked, tightening her grip in an attempt to bring out a response. "You aren't hurt?"

Her husband was standing right next to her, but his narrowed grey-blue eyes were focused on the broken chandelier instead, eyeing the large crack in the marble floor. "That was a close one," Gaillard then expressed. "If this room had not been evacuated..."

Lucia raised her head. "Multiple casualties would have followed," she quietly finished.

The young adolescent looked upwards to the ceiling of where the object had fallen from... and tensed when it became evident which chandelier had almost caused a person's death.

"Meanwhile, that detective is nowhere in sight," Lucia's voice rang.

It was the one chandelier they had investigated together.


	7. The Crime

She barely saw the man before she crashed into him. Her lips had time to part, but only a groan escaped her throat when she harshly landed on top of him. Her heart was still pounding aggressively in her chest and her breaths were uneven while she pushed herself up, looking into a pair of identical-colored blue eyes.

"...Are we going to do this more often?" was the stiff reply of the young man underneath her. But instead of apologizing, she clutched the hems of his blouse tightly and pulled him closer with enough determination to lift him a couple of good inches from the velvet-red carpet. " _You_ ," she breathed. "Where were you?"

Gazing into the detective girl's eyes, his surprised expression faded into a sullen look.

"Where was I?" he repeated, his hands folding over hers. "I was looking for you! I went to our guest rooms, but you weren't there, so I changed first and – do you even know what kind of hell I just went through!?" he exclaimed in one long breath.

Her different colored eyes narrowed and her grip on his clean white blouse slacked. There was a huff from her lips and he felt her breath on his neck. "Fair enough," she muttered. "You did change your clothes back."

"...So did you," was the reply. The light-brown cape and detective hat were only a familiar sight. He watched her rise from the floor gracefully, standing up in one fluid movement. While he needed his hands to lift himself, she did not need the support.

"I am taking these back," she stated, her strict gaze on him. It was only then that he noticed the keys in her hand. He stiffened, his hand automatically diving into his right pocket. How did she take it out of his pocket without him noticing anything?

She took one glance at the set of keys, before heaving a sigh. "But it seems that it will already be too late..." she declared, stepping away to turn into the hallway.

The writer blinked. "What..." he could only bring out. He took quick steps after her. "Did something happen?"

There was a vacant look in her eyes when she gazed back at him. "Of course it did..." she casually stated. "Isn't that why we came here to begin with?"

He could only try to grasp the meaning behind her words. "You mean that a crime has already been committed?" he asked her. "...A murder?"

She did not answer. Instead, she stopped before the first door they came across in the hallway and tried several keys on it before it finally clicked. Now unlocked, Len prepared himself to enter it. But instead of grasping the door handle to open the door, she walked away. Puzzled, his steps were right behind her as she attempted to unlock the second door. Once more, she decided to desert it once it unlocked. She walked through the hallway like this, unlocking four more doors, causing the writer to grow more confused with each door she did not open. "...What are you doing?" he finally asked.

The next door clicked. "Surely you can see that yourself," she muttered.

The young man frowned at her evasive answer. "You know what I mean. What are you searching for?"

For a brief moment, her eyes met his. "Why, the crime scene of course."

But instead of giving clearance, this answer just brought more confusion. "The crime could not have happened here," he protested. "These doors were locked before the masquerade started. No one is be able to enter any room on this entire floor."

Pulling the key back from the seventh door that unlocked, she stuck out her arm to him. The keys jingled in front of the writer, just inches away from his nose. "The set is incomplete."

Blinking, the writer was taken aback when she proceeded along. "There are eight keys on this set," she explained then, searching for the key to fit the lock that would send an audible click through the hallway. "How many doors had we locked, Len?"

Blue eyes gazed back at her. "...Nine," he answered. "But how...?"

The detective girl chuckled. "How, you ask? Well, for starters, I just proved that you aren't difficult to pickpocket." She pulled the final key away from the lock and turned the doorknob. It didn't budge... it was still locked. She smiled.

Instead of knocking, or asking if anyone was in the room at all, she rammed her shoulder into the door. The writer's eyes widened when she did not even hesitate with her second attempt. Quickly catching her by her shoulders when she was about to hit it once more, she seemed irritated by his interference. She was about to protest, but he forcefully placed her aside. Bracing himself, he took two steps back and kicked the door with all of his strength. Wooded pieces broke off at the side of the door. With one more kick, the door slammed open.

The moment of silence that followed was only broken by the soft footstep of the detective girl beside him. Comprehending the situation, he felt the words leave his lips in a whisper: "This is.... too cruel."

He gazed at the trembling figure of Lady Millina, the color of red surrounding her. The floor and a large section on the wall were covered in it and the white stainless dress she had worn so lovely before was soaked in blood. But it was not her own. The woman desperately clung to the limp figure that was lying against the wall, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "...Rin," her high voice, now thick and hoarse instead of light and charming, called out. "Rin... Rin,  _Rin_ ," she repeated in an endless chant.

And when he tore his gaze away from the fragile woman in front of them, he was astounded at how little this had affected the detective girl. There was no look of shock in her expression, only a blankness he could not decipher. He stepped back to allow the detective girl to enter the crime scene and she walked forward without hesitation. Her eyes were focused on the hem of the knife that was pierced into the chest of the victim.

Tears streamed down Millina's cheeks. "Rin, he's... he's..." she whispered, clenching the lifeless body tightly. "S-so cold. You have to...h-have to... "

If the lady was searching for any shred of kindness in the different-colored eyes of the detective girl, Len could safely conclude that she found none. The moment her pleas interrupted the detective's concentration, her expression only seemed to harden. "Get up. You are tampering with the evidence."

Millina stiffened a sob and started to shake uncontrollably. Clutching her bloodied fists against her face, she finally let out an agonizing wail.

This caused the writer to grasp the hem of the cape tightly, forcing the detective girl to take a step back. "What do you think you are doing?" he hissed at her. "Have you got no mercy at all? Just look at her!"

The blonde girl to turned her distant gaze at him. "...I am looking at her." The words she send through the air were expressed calmly, as a clear contrast to his heated tone. "...Are you?" she asked him.

The breath of the teal-haired lady hitched. "...What do you mean?" he asked.

Her lips stretched into an empty smile. "I do not take pity in anyone. While you allow yourself get steered by your own emotions, I'd rather view things as they are," she told him. "And right now she is holding a dead man in her arms."

The writer seemed astounded at her response. "She's holding her  _husband_ ," he corrected her. "Do you even hear yourself? She loved that man, they have a child together!" Millina cried even louder at this.

"I told you this before; you draw your conclusions too hastily," Rin stated, her expression indifferent. She broke the grip on her cape by taking hold of his wrist. "Now, put that right hand of yours to work," she ordered, giving it a small squeeze. "And start writing this down. As I recall, that is what you came to do, isn't it?"

Len narrowed his eyes, forcibly yanking his hand back.

"Lady Callisford-Vanquost," she then loudly addressed. While the lady did not stir, the fact that her sobs became a bit more controlled indicated that she was listening. "That man is dead. You are not helping him, least of all yourself right now. I need you to let him go so that I can investigate him."

The teal-haired woman hung her head low and took a deep, ragged breath of air. After a few moments of silence, she nodded her head almost unnoticeably. Slowly, shakily, she retreated her tainted arms from the neck of her deceased husband. Finally, she inched away from him.

The detective girl glanced at the large stain at the wall. "He had been standing when he was murdered and fell down when his blood was already flowing..." She diverted her attention to the victim that had created this pattern on the wall. Keaton Callisford's sea-colored eyes were open, but all life had left them as he stared blankly into nothing. "There is a heavy amount of blood on his chest and lower body. Stabbed at a close range... a fatal strike. I'd say it hit the heart directly... perhaps even punctured a lung."

The trembling figure of Lady Millina squeezed herself into the corner of the room, embracing herself. Tears still flowed from her eyes and she bit her lip in an attempt to control her sobs. The detective girl glanced the lady's dress alone, analyzing the large stain that reached past her hips. It shone in the light of the candles; still wet. "Awful lot of blood though. If the killer left the knife inside, I doubt it would flow this much..." the detective girl concluded.

"...What do you mean; if he left it inside?" Len glared. While he had taken his notebook and pen out of his pocket, she noted that he has yet to write anything down.

"Exactly as I state it," she answered. "Isn't it strange to stab someone... pull the knife out... and then decide that you want to leave it inside the wound?"

A look of disgust flashed across the features of the writer. "Why would anyone do that?" he openly stated, his voice appearing to be shaking in anger.

"Who knows," she mused, her lips spreading into a scheming smile. "Perhaps you should ask the culprit this..." She took a step away from the body and approached the teal-haired lady that was still shaking on her feet. "Before I'm thoroughly investigating this man... I need to know exactly why you're here."

" _No_ ," Len raised his voice, loudly objecting to this. "Give her a moment to calm down. She's in shock right now, we need to get her to a bed and – "

" _Why_?" the detective girl spat, sharply turning around to meet the glare of her assistant. "So she has enough time to make something up!?"

The young man didn't answer, but the way his jaw clenched made his opinion clear.

She turned back to the young lady, who met her gaze with grief and confusion in her eyes. "You left the party early to bring your daughter back to bed," she mentioned. "But you did not return afterwards. Why not?"

Millina squeezed her eyes shut and her hand shot to her mouth, looking ready to throw up. The stress of the situation seemed to be getting to her. "K-Keaton...." she replied, her voice thick from crying. "Keaton... my husband. N-needed to find him..."

This caused the blond girl to raise her eyebrow. "You searched for him on the first floor while the party was held downstairs?" she claimed. "That makes no sense."

"Keaton..." she once more called in a hiccup, her shoulders shaking. "Rin..."

The detective girl folded her arms together. "You aren't focusing... Answer my questions. Why did you head for the first floor instead of the ballroom? If you knew that these doors would be locked, why would you search for him here? I had told you my rules beforehand: I would have not allowed him to leave the party."

"I-I..." Millina stuttered softly, her voice thick from crying. "...Knew he... would come back here... eventually." She placed her hands in front of her face, taking a shaky breath. "I... found him...here..." she whispered very softly. "And I... couldn't... couldn't..." she shook her head virtuously.

"That's enough," the low voice of the writer called. "That's enough for now. Can't we let her-"

_"Are you writing this down?"_  the detective girl bit back. She could almost feel the anger radiating from the young man, pointing in her back like daggers. "How did you get in here? I personally locked all the doors this afternoon," she continued.

Millina softly shook her head. "It was open," she breathed. "...when I came in."

A small chuckle filled the air. "What are you saying?" Rin claimed. "You got locked in and you didn't even realize it? Why did you bother coming here if you could not even enter the room?"

The reply was hard to hear. "Thought he could..." she closed her eyes. "...come here."

The detective girl's eyes sparkled. "Well, you were right about that," she said. "At least here he is allowing you to embrace him."

Millina looked horrified and at the same time, she felt a sharp pull on her arm. Len had gripped it tightly and his eyes pierced in hers. "Don't step on her feelings like that," he warned her. "This is not a game. She is not just a piece for your puzzle."

The blonde girl leaned towards the young man. "Is she not?" she countered. There was a strange gleam in her eyes when she gazed back at him. A hint of amusement covered by a tone that was surprisingly sweet... "I would beg to differ."

"Please," the lady pleaded, her head resting against the window, closing her eyes. "Rin... please." Rain started to clatter against the glass behind her.

Len frowned at the young lady, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. While the detective girl neared a small table that carried two glasses and a bottle of wine, he stepped closer to the murder victim. Staring down at the male that had been alive and well just a short amount of time ago, he let his eyes wander towards the hem of the knife... and found themselves resting on something else entirely. And for a moment, he inched closer, stretching out his fingers...

"Len, don't touch the body!" He flinched. The sudden sneer came from the detective girl, who roughly placed the wineglass she had been inspecting back on the table.

"No wait," he told her, retreating his hand. "There's something on him."

"Step back," she ordered, approaching him. "This crime scene is tainted enough without you stirring up the evidence." Resting her hands on her knees, she narrowed her eyes in concentration to see what he was looking at.

"There, " he said, pointing at the left pocket of the decorated jacket. "There's something glistering. Can you see it?"

Rin stiffly nodded. Her gloved fingers carefully reached into the pocket and she clutched the object in her hand. Only after pulling back did she unfold fingers to reveal the item. Len noted how, once more, her expression became blank and unreadable to him. "Ah, so there is our missing key," she uttered.

He took the small key from her hand and made his way towards the door to test this theory of hers. Shoving the key into the lock and turning it around, the lock moved submissively.

"The set of keys was your responsibility, Len," she called out to him. "Therefore, I will hold you responsible for its disappearance."

He could only frown at her words as he walked back to her. "I will be honest with you," he said. "...I didn't check if the set was complete when you handed them to me."

She held out her hand, silently demanding them back. "Are you telling me that I gave you an incomplete set to begin with?" she suggested.

"I am not accusing you," he argued, placing the silver item back into the palm of her hand. "It is just that I did not come near Keaton Callisford the entire day... And you did, right after we locked these doors." He glanced at the lifeless body. "He must have entered the room somehow..."

The detective girl nodded, following his gaze. "Well, we cannot ask him any longer." She pulled the set of keys from her pocket, attaching the last one to it. "While a large number of people had been close enough to snatch this key away, we can narrow down our list of potential suspects by looking at who is in this room at the moment." Her eyes shifted to the teal-haired lady. "This door was locked after all..." she mused.

Suddenly a bright flash of light filled the room and a loud rumbling sound followed.

The blond haired girl chuckled at the dramatic influence. "Well, this is the perfect setting for a murder case," she claimed, spreading her arms to the approaching storm. The writer could only stare at her in awe while Millina's quiet sobs mixed with the sound of the clattering rain, now fading away in the background.

* * *

 

"There was certainly enough time to commit the murder," Rin explained as she removed her bloodstained gloves. "Both Millina and Keaton had been out of my line of sight for a vast amount of time. Keaton Callisford had not been there to apologize for the chaotic state of the ballroom after the fight. Instead, his brother had felt obligated to step forward." After she had finished her investigation on the corpse, Len had insisted on bringing the lady to bed. They entered the master bedroom and the young man, who had supported the trembling woman, gently placed her on the mattress. Millina did not respond when he lifted her head to support it with an extra pillow. His blue eyes roamed over her for a moment, taking in her almost lifeless appearance.

The detective had taken that moment to slip into the large bathroom connected to the bedroom, using the opportunity to wash her gloves in the sink. As soon as the writer peeked inside, she had pulled him into the room and closed the door, speaking to him in a hushed tone. "The evidence clearly states that there wasn't a struggle between him and the culprit," she continued to explain. "Therefore, it was someone that he knew and trusted. Such a shame, really... It seemed like it would be a romantic night too." She placed her dirty gloves into the water and the writer watched the clear substance change color. "With an unopened bottle of wine and glasses already placed on the table, we can at least conclude that much..." she smiled.

"I know that we only managed to find incriminating evidence against her..." Len could not help but frown. "But this is only because she was holding him."

"Oh, you are absolutely right on that one," she almost seemed to congratulate him. "Clever such a strategy would be. Crying in the body of your dead husband might be the perfect way of retaining your innocence,  _despite_  all of the evidence. As you say: it is only natural for us to find evidence against her."

The writer looked taken aback by this. "I just can't imagine... What kind of motivation could she possibly have?" he questioned aloud.

The detective girl wringed the leather gloves, causing drops of pink to fall into the water. "Motives could be anything, really... In fact, I can give you five reasons to murder me where I stand." Her bright eyes gazed at him through the mirror and he did not miss the tone of her voice. She was once again challenging him.

"Really, five?" he repeated in disbelieve. He could not help but raise an eyebrow at that statement. "Fine, which ones can you make up?"

She placed the gloves aside and pulled the plug out of the sink. The foul water slowly ebbed away. She spun around, leaning against the porcelain as her gaze locked with his. She raised one finger in front of his face."One," she mouthed, her eyes gleaming. "Anger. I can see the anger in your eyes from time to time... Mostly when you disagree with my actions or interrogations," she informed him. "I haven't been sparing your feelings nor valued your opinion highly. I have no doubt in my mind that you believe my methods are sometimes unfair or even cruel... It leaves one to wonder if that anger of yours could be intense enough... for you to snap?"

The writer's clear blue eyes widened at her accusation. "It is true that I don't always agree with you, but I would never –"

"Two," she interrupted, raising two of her fingers. "Self-defense." Her smile widened at his bewildered expression. "Tell me, Len, how loyal are you to me?" she asked. "Do you think that my actions are a little strange sometimes? Can you be absolutely sure that I did not invent this case myself? What if I took that key myself before handing you the set? And where was I at the time of the murder...? If you truly believe in Millina's innocence, I should be the next suspect in your mind."

Surprisingly, the writer fell silent at this.

"Smart boy, that seemed to have crossed your mind before," she chuckled, before raising another finger. "Number three would be a grand headline. A detective murdered on a case makes a story a lot more interesting than a plain old murder of a rich man. Those happen all the time, don't they?"

At this, the young man started protesting again. "You know that I would ne-"

"Stop defending yourself," she waved him off. "I'm not saying that you'll actually do it, these are just examples. That would be a dull reason for me to die anyway." She now raised four fingers and stared up at him, the playful smile returning on the features of her face. "However, number four isn't. That one is actually kind of interesting." The writer seemed skeptical about this, so she mouthed: "Jealousy."

"...Jealousy?" he slowly repeated, frowning at her. "I am not trying to insult you, but there is no reason for me to be jealous of you."

The detective girl nodded. "And that is the interesting part you see." She took a step forward, closing some distance between them. "Material wise, you probably make more money than I do, despite the irregular assignments writers always seem to have..." she mused, placing her hand on his arm. "So that isn't the type of reason why I am proclaiming this particular emotion as a murder case motive. No, I am talking about  _our_  relationship here... and the frustration you hold when I put you back into your place as my assistant." The young man froze, his heart beating heavily in his chest when the detective girl leaned in. "Why don't we just stop pretending?" she requested. He could feel her warm breath on his lips. "Your curriculum was flawless, I admit. But your attitude has been awful." Up close, her eyes were endless depths. It was astounding how deep the colors of blue and red went, countering each other perfectly. They almost seemed to glow as they stared right through him. "You've interrupted me more than once... forcing your opinion on this case unannounced,  _detective_."

He could feel the world around them halting as he stared blankly at the face of the detective girl. She met his gaze with self-satisfaction and curiosity residing in them and it felt like a decade before he could tear himself away from that penetrating gaze. Feeling his cheeks burn up as he took a step back, he looked away in shame. A breath escaped his lips. "I... gave up that way of life a long time ago..."

The detective girl leaned forward in an attempt to catch his averted gaze. "Have you?" she argued. "I see the doubt with every decision I take. You've been stretching your role of the assistant for quite a while now."

He briefly met her eyes, before looking down once more. His voice held hesitation. "How long... have you known?" he asked her.

The blonde girl seemed intrigued by his reaction."Not long. It took me a lot of time... trying to find more about you than just your writing career. When I entered your hotel room and you were ready to launch at me with your knife..."

He opened his mouth to object, but she cut him off. "If I were someone _else,_ " she added. "It only confirmed the information that I'd discovered. Despite your position, you witnessed everything through the mind of a detective. You questioning my decisions is a luxury that isn't part of the job description. Not as an assistant. Not as a writer. Jealousy is number four, because you have absolutely no influence on what my actions are..."

The writer's fist clenched. His brows knitted together. "Then why... Why did you bring me with you... if you knew that I didn't tell you everything?"

She lifted her head, cold eyes staring at him. "I told you. Your curriculum was  _flawless_." He felt his heart leap in his chest. "You _have_  been working as a writer for two years. You  _have_  been working together with the police. Everything you've written down, was the truth. Even the name you gave up exists. For the last two years, you have been Levon Ellard Newman, a writer of small articles for the newspaper... Creating identities shouldn't be hard for a detective specialized in undercover work. Through some effort, I've managed to find the name you were known under at that time... Or is that a fake name as well?" Her gaze was intense and he could almost feel her peel back the layers he had build around himself.

A small choke, almost like a short chuckle escaped his throat. "An alias," he answered, sending her a apologetic smile. "But I've been using the name Dalen since I was nine years old, so in a way, it is just as important as my real one. When I was younger though, I used to rebel against it. I wanted to make up my own alias, so I shortened it to..."

"Len," the detective girl mouthed, a proud smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Isn't it? You tensed when I called it out for the first time."

The writer ran his hand through his bangs, trying to gather enough strength to look into those judging eyes. "Something... happened," he then told her. "I - probably owe you an explanation for this... but it's something that I didn't want to be reminded of. I know that I've been lying about my name, where I live..." he muttered. "I really do apologize for that."

The blonde girl smiled at him, casually folding her hands together. While he was obviously uncomfortable, she seemed perfectly at ease. "It's a good thing you could pass as an eighteen year old... being three years older than what you wrote on your curriculum."

He lowered his head, the color of red filling his cheeks. "I didn't want to be traced back..." he explained. "There... is a reason why I carry a weapon with me."

She looked surprised at the mention of the knife. "I could use a reasonable explanation for that," she replied, watching him with curiosity. An awkward silence passed between them. The writer seemed to struggle with the option of telling her, his eyes avoiding her as they were glazed over distantly. He seemed as if he was in a different place when he spoke to her, the tone of his voice flat. "My parents were murdered when I was sixteen," he finally explained. "I was there. I saw it happen."

The way he held himself told her that he wasn't planning on telling her the details. Despite the nonverbal hint to close this topic, the detective girl wasn't planning on letting him go easily. "Were you already an undercover detective at that time?" she asked.

He hadn't expected any words of remorse or pity from her, as she had showed no mercy before. Her indifference was a familiarity, something he strangely appreciated.

"I have been from the moment I turned fourteen. My father was an undercover detective and he trained me since I was small," he started to tell. "The young age helped to conceal me. No one expected a boy that wasn't even an adult yet, to be a detective. They were never suspicious of me."

Different-colored eyes stared back at him. "You both must have had plenty of enemies then," she said. "It's a dangerous occupation... a risk that goes with the job."

The young writer exhaled, absently staring into the distance. "The things you take for granted the most... are the things easiest to lose, really."

"Everything can be taken away," the detective girl agreed. "Life, love, innocence... Even your dignity, though some claim differently. Is the reason why you carry a weapon around because he was never caught? Or just recently released?"

"Never caught," he stated, his tone surprisingly calm despite the emotion he reflected.

The detective girl raised her eyebrow. "Must have traumatized you, if you still carry a weapon around after five years."

"You don't understand: I had to give up my job," he explained. "I couldn't stand the sight of blood... The mention of a murder paralyzed me. Even to this day I cannot objectively look at a crime scene anymore."

"That, I have noticed," the blonde girl bluntly remarked. "Yet, what I can't comprehend is this: why do you write crime-related articles? You knew that you could one day be part of a murder investigation."

The young adolescent lifted his head, piercing blue eyes staring into hers with sudden determination. "My interest in criminal cases never faded. I started writing in order to stay in contact with this world," he told her. "I liked it more than I expected. At first, I never wrote about anything too violent, but when some time passed, I forced myself to take a step further. I enjoyed working along with the police. It helped me overcome my fear." There was a pause. "I just wanted to stop being so weak..."

"You had a reasonably calm reaction," the detective girl commented. "You seemed to have overcome your fear."

He looked at her gratefully, a small smile at the corner of his lips. This was about the closest thing she would come to giving him a compliment.

" _But_ , with my small reputation of only solving petty crimes, I do wonder why you chose to apply at my office," she asked, folding her arms together. "The chances were slim that I would be presented with something interesting like an actual murder."

The young man grimaced. "I was thrown out by the other, bigger agencies... Most of them didn't want anything to do with me after I told them I'm a journalist."

"Ah, that explains it then," she mused, a spark of understanding in her eyes. "They never are keen about the media. It's not your fault. The more famous a detective is, the less manners they seem to have."

"I noticed..." he replied.

The detective girl raised her head. The words she spoke were so sudden that he felt his heart skip a beat at it. "This is the last repetition of my warning. Do not hide anything else from me," she warned him.

For a moment, he was lost for words as hers sank in. While her eyes pierced into his, he felt himself take a small breath of air. All of the sudden, it seemed to click in his mind and he found himself remembering the words she had shared with him in the hotel room last night. She had told him that she hated secrets.

She hadn't just been talking about the knife he'd tried to hide from her. From the beginning, she had known everything. And he felt like an idiot for not realizing this sooner. "I won't," he hastily replied, feeling his heart race at her intense stare.

A moment passed in silence, until the detective girl turned her back to him. She grabbed the damp gloves. "Let's not stray in here for too long," she commented then, looking back at him. "Two people staying in a bathroom for a short moment is suspicious enough. Even with the state of mind Lady Millina is in, I'd say we have long passed the normal timeframe of a bathroom visit."

The writer flinched at the realization, warmth spreading over his cheeks. When she passed him to reach for the doorknob, a thought crossed his mind. Before she could turn it, the soft touch of his hand on her shoulder made her pause.

There was a slight hesitation when her eyes met his. "You only gave me four reasons," he said. Despite the fact that he had gotten her attention already, he found himself unwilling to remove his hand. He saw the skepticism in her eyes fade into an amused sparkle. The hint of a smile resided on her face as she parted her lips. "I did."

Her childlike smirk told him that he had to ask for it, in order to get the answer. In his curiosity, he played along with it. "What is number five?" he asked.

The detective girl raised her full hand, showing him all five of her digits. "Sometimes, I wonder if you really are that naïve..." she replied, amusement in her tone. "Or if you're just playing with me. You have a habit of asking questions you already know the answer of."

The young man blinked at that. "I don't..."

"Oh, I think you do," she replied, eyes sparkling as she turned the doorknob. "After all, number five..." The creak of the opening door was audible. "Is fixation."

 


	8. The Chase

"An accident."

Three pair of eyes all held the same disbelieving expression. The detective girl held up the long chain in her hand, showing them the row of metal rings that was used to keep the chandelier attached to the ceiling. "It is completely bend," she elaborated, her fingers holding up one ring in particular. "But there are no signs that the space is created by anything other than time. There are no scratch marks that indicate that the ends of this ring have parted forcibly. Metal tends to leave a mark if they are forced to yield. This is the result of an old chain, from a chandelier that has caught dust for generations."

"Nonsense," Lady Lucia stated. "I will not believe anything other than foul play. This chandelier fell on the night a murder was predicted. It nearly killed one of the maids and your assistant was standing just a short distance from the incident."

"That kind of deduction is based on emotions instead of facts," Rin had to counter. "What you are looking for is a scapegoat, not a culprit. Narrowing your vision like that is dangerous. I would strongly advise you to use more common sense."

"Common sense?" the lady countered. "How dare you – "

"I might have caused the ring of the chain to bend a little further, causing the accident," the detective claimed. "When I was investigating the chandelier, I stumbled and leaned my weight on it to catch myself from falling... but sooner or later, it would have fallen down. It is a coincidence that it happened on this particular evening." She glanced at hundred sparkling crystals surrounding the impressively large chandelier. "While the evidence alone is enough to announce this an incident, I doubt that anyone in their right mind would use a chandelier as a murder weapon. There is no possibility of knowing when it would fall down. It could have landed on anyone."

"The letter did not state who would be murdered," Gaillard then said. "The killer could have been satisfied with a random victim."

The detective girl shook her head. "Or landed on no one at all. It could have easily fallen down before or after the masquerade. Would the culprit risk that?"

The heel of the older lady clicked sharply on the marble floor. "Alright, fine, have it your way. This is an accident," she accepted. "But that does not change the fact that you disappeared in the midst of it all. You could at least tell us what you were doing at that time."

"While I still need to hear your statements?" the blonde girl responded.

Lucia parted her lips to protest, but her husband placed a hand on her shoulder. "After helping your assistant, my wife has taken care of the maids. They were all shaken; they were standing close by when this happened..."

"They were all still present after the accident?" she was quick to ask.

"Yes," Gaillard verified. "Since Millina nor my brother were anywhere in sight, I made the decision to end the masquerade early. I escorted the guests outside, with not even the family butler to assist me."

"Ask the maids, they can verify," Lucia muttered. "Where are Millina and Keaton anyway? Even when the fight broke out, my husband was forced to take the lead."

The detective girl folded her arms. "You can continue doing that from this point on. While Lady Millina is doing well under the current circumstances, Keaton Callisford has been murdered... Tell me, have you seen anything suspicious?"

Len flinched at the way she shared the news and could only stare at her in response. The facial expressions of Gaillard and his wife, betrayed their own shock at the news. The older male didn't shed a tear, but the way his body stiffened and his jaw clenched, made it clear that he was affected by the news. Lady Lucia's shoulders were tense as she absently reached for her husband's hand. "He's... gone?" she whispered.

"Well, his body is here, but if you meant in spirit, I'm afraid he's all gone," the blonde girl answered. "Meanwhile, the only one still missing would be Lady Gillium..."

"She would leave right after the masquerade though," Lucia told her. "We would stay another night before departing, but she wanted to leave right after. That could explain her absence."

Gaillard's eyes narrowed coldly. "I did not see her pass."

Lucia squeezed the hand of her husband. "Darling, the departure of the guests was chaotic... You have probably just missed her."

"I will look into it," the detective girl ensured them. "As well as into your alibis."

"Naturally," the man with the long, purple hair stoically answered.

"That only leaves your alibi, detective." The lady's eyes gazed down on the young adolescent. "I know where your assistant was... so where were  _you_ at the time of the murder? Can you tell us?"

The detective girl's lips stretched into an amused smile. "Of course not," she laughed.

Len frowned at her withdrawal of information. Analyzing the hardened expression of the cherry blossom-haired lady, he knew that Rin was making a mistake. She should have told her where she had been, so that she wouldn't make herself suspicious.

"That is your answer then?" Lucia coldly stated.

The different-colored eyes glistered at that moment and the writer noted how it radiated a wave of mystery around her. "Yes," she replied. "That is my answer."

The lady curtly nodded, but her husband shook his head at this. "Sweetheart, you cannot truly suspect a detective to invent their own murder case."

"Why not?" she protested. "She has allowed herself to run freely while tying the rest of us down. She was the one that inspected that chandelier and it nearly caused her  _second_ assistant's death!"

Len glanced at the detective girl and tensed at the change in her expression. At the crime scene, this person had not blinked twice at the horrific sight, but this time there was a clear shift in her composure... The amused smile had faded from her face and her eyes now held a dangerous spark.

The lady did not seem to comprehend the warning as she took a step towards the girl, continuing to provoke her. "Tell us what happened to that former assistant of yours: the truth. You owe that to Len at least, he almost died trying to solve this case for you!" Words spat with venom echoed through the room.

Gaillard tried to send the detective an apologetic glance, but she kept her gaze firmly on the woman in front of her. She hadn't moved from her spot, standing tall. Her expression was tense, heavy emotions residing in her eyes. She looked strangely calm when she parted her lips to give them her answer. "I refuse."

And with long steps echoing against the marble, she made her way out of the ballroom without even awaiting a response.

Widened eyes stared after her, surprised at the clear, simple statement. It took a few seconds after her disappearance, that Len let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Lady Lucia's dumbfounded expression, that betrayed that she had expected a different answer, finally turned into a heated glare. Gaillard merely sighed. Out of the three of them, he was most likely the least disappointed at the withdrawal of information.

The writer suddenly blinked, his cheeks flushing red. He flinched when he realized he should have gone after her. He felt incredibly embarrassed and stumbled out of the room without saying a word.

"Wait, please!" he called after her. He could see her at the end of the hallway and was relieved to see that she hadn't disappeared. She stopped at the sound of his voice, but didn't turn around. But that was fine by him and caught up with her quickly.

An icy feeling clutched him however, at the sound of her voice.

"What do  _you_ want."

Suddenly he was hesitating, taken aback by her sudden coldness. "I'm just..." he started, searching for the right words. "I mean... I think... you should talk to them."

She didn't respond, her back still turned towards him. He couldn't see her expression and it bothered him. He wanted to know how she felt, so he could try to say the right things. "Please understand what I'm trying to say," he said. "If you'll just talk to them and explain the situation... I mean, this is a misunderstanding."

Again, only silence answered him. He started to feel frustrated. Lady Lucia had given him a warning about the detective girl... her unwillingness to talk only fueled the fire. If she'd just say it out loud... if she would just tell them that she's innocent. Why would she refuse to do that?

He took a deep breath, frowning at her back. Slowly, he reached out for her. "Tell me what happened," he asked her, taking a step closer to her. "You know that I would believe you." His fingers softly brushed against the sleeve of her dress. "Tell me that you had nothing to do with it. I will take your word for it... I won't need anything else. I will stand by you." He barely resisted the urge to pull her close and embrace her. "I will protect you. So please," He gave her arm a small squeeze. "Just tell me," he told her. "... that you weren't responsible for her death."

And in a split second, everything was over. Instantly backing away, he stared at her with wide eyes. He took in her expression and it was as if someone poured a bucket of ice cold water over him. He slowly raised his hand, automatically responding to the heat on his left cheek.

Her breathing was shallow, her hand still in the air. Her entire body was shaking uncontrollably. Both her cheeks were a bright red color, eyes blazing in anger, her teeth clenched tightly. But the one thing that had made his heart sank to his stomach, were the tears falling down her cheeks.

"You will  _never_ ," she breathed, her voice shaking. "...mention this again."

And he found himself nodding slowly, lost for words. His feet were still glued to the ground when she started to take large steps away from him. He removed his hand from his cheek; it hurt of course, but it was nothing compared to the pain he felt in his chest. He couldn't believe that he had made her cry.

It felt as if he'd been standing on the same spot for hours, his hand still glued to his cheek as if frozen in place. He kept staring at the corner of the hallway, the place where she had disappeared from his sight.

His head was spinning as thoughts scrambled together. He analyzed the scene that just took place, trying to piece her reaction with his words. And the words she didn't utter, words he had demanded from her.

Why... He frowned. Why didn't she tell him she is innocent? From the beginning, she had turned this subject into a forbidden topic. That young woman hadn't disappeared; she had been murdered.

He bit the inside of his cheek. It was the detective girl's silence that frustrated him the most. It spoke for her, embracing the possibility for everyone that, perhaps, she  _was_  responsible. And that left him confused. He wanted to hear the truth from her lips, but her reaction...

"Forget about it."

The deep, strong voice came from right behind him. He stiffened at the sight of Gaillard Callisford. He had been too preoccupied to even hear him approach. His wide blue eyes stared up, confusion lingering in them.

"My wife simply has a rich fantasy and while it is often a gift, it is only poison in this case..." The grey-blue eyes of the older male were cool as he met Len's gaze. "Before your mind draws a conclusion, pay in mind that the unfortunate death of that girl has nothing to do with this case. My brother is murdered by someone. Suspecting the one person that needs to solve this case, won't do it any good."

The writer averted his gaze. "But why wouldn't she..." he muttered, pausing halfway.

The older male seemed to catch onto his train of thought. "It must be a painful subject for her to react this strongly about it. If you allow yourself to hesitate here, the relationship between you and the detective will become strained. This case needs to be solved. I apologize for sounding selfish, but finding the murderer of my brother is more important than an emotional dilemma between coworkers. I would like you two to settle your differences. I will ensure that my wife will not bring the subject up again."

The writer nodded at that. "...I understand."

He felt a broad, strong hand pat on his shoulder. "Thank you, I appreciate it," the man told him, before turning back in the direction of the dining room.

Len watched him leave, his gaze following him until he was out of sight. Then, he forced his feet to move, knowing exactly where he needed to go.

* * *

 

With each passing minute, the weight of her error seemed to increase. Now that her thoughts were not clouded by her own emotions anymore, she became aware of how far she had crossed a line when she hit him. She gazed at her own hand. While regretting it wouldn't solve the problem, she wondered if apologizing would be enough. A detective needed to be calm and rational under any circumstance.

"...I made a mistake," she quietly realized.

Her footsteps led her back to a familiar hallway and she paused before the guest room that temporarily belonged to the blond-haired youth. Her eyelids dropped, gazing at the door for a moment, practicing the apologizing words inside her head. There was only a small chance that he went back to this room, yet she couldn't help but hesitate as she reached for the silver door handle. Taking a moment to take a breath, she pushed it down and...

"Rin."

A pair of bright blue-colored eyes met hers in the hallway. Startled, she took a step back from the unopened door. She hadn't expected him to burst out her own guest room like that, standing inside her door opening.

He took an immediate step towards her. "Please don't." His blue eyes pierced into hers and she only blinked in response. He seemed to struggle with the desire to take hold of her, fingertips pausing only inches away from her wrist. "Don't walk away from me again," he asked from her.

He had been misinterpretending her movement. She shook her head in an attempt to inform him that she came her for the opposite reason. "I won't," she stated.

He stared down at her with a distant look on his face. "...Won't you?"

There was something different about his posture and the detective girl tensed when he stepped closer. She felt her detective hat being straightened, gently pulled firmer over her head. She gazed up to see two stunning eyes stare back at her, deadly serious as he looked down at her. The both of them stayed in the same position for a lingering moment, his hands remaining around her detective hat while the apology she had rehearsed in her head was dying away in her throat.

"I'm sorry."

This situation wasn't as it should be.

His voice was soft as he continued to keep their gazes locked. "I never intended to make you cry," he told her. "Please believe that at least."

She should be the one apologizing right now, yet he was the one asking for her forgiveness. And she found herself lost for words when she gazed into those blue irises, filled with sincere contempt.

He was regretting this.

She softly nodded her head. He visibly relaxed and silently retreated his hands, breaking into a warm smile. She could only respond to that familiarity with a couple of curt words. "Let's get inside," she announced. "There are a couple of things you might want to write down..."

* * *

 

It was already rather late when the blonde girl lightened the candle, one of the same white candles that was used to seal the fake letter. The small light created shadows on the wall, changing with each movement of the flame. With a soft clink, she placed two glasses of water on the small table, before taking a seat in the soft comfortable chair next to the table. He sat on the sitting opposite to her.

"I went to the bedroom Lady Gillium had been using during her stay," the detective girl told him. "Her belongings are no longer there. I have taken the courtesy of asking the family butler where her carriage is – well, after freeing the three of them out of that cramped room we locked them into, that is."

Len's eyes widened. "I completely forgot about that," he gasped. "Were they alright?"

"As fine as three grown man being locked into a small room with no windows could be," she answered. "They hadn't left. It was still locked and they were pretty angry about it too. I had explained the situation beforehand, but..."

"...You yelled it through the door," the writer frowned.

"I could have left them clueless," she countered. "Either way, with the information he provided, it became clear that the butler had picked her up from the train station when she arrived..."

"Then she had no transportation home," he concluded. "She couldn't have left."

This caused the detective girl to raise her eyebrow at him. "Don't pretend to be dense now. There were quite a few guests at the party that would be more than willing to provide her a ride home. She was a popular dance partner if you haven't noticed..."

"...And you think that she would have left just like that? Without announcing her departure?" Len had to ask. "Is that not the slightest bit suspicious?"

"It is," she cooed with delight. "It certainly is, but who knows... She could have easily told our murder victim that she was going home. We don't know his side of this story."

The gaze of the writer momentarily left her face. "We could ask Lady Millina whether she knows anything. If Lady Gillium decided to leave party, it would make sense for her to tell her friend, right? Rather than her friend's husband."

A soft chuckle left the detective girl's throat. "You would think that, wouldn't you?"

She reached into her detective cape and dropped something between them on the small table. He tensed at the appearance of a dark-red envelope. The seal had long broken and was chipped around the edges. The paper itself was a bit ruffled, making its appearance look older than the last letters he had seen. "...What is this?" he asked her. "This isn't the same as – "

"Don't speculate. Open it and find out," she suggested.

He complied, opening the envelope and taking out a sheet of thick paper. He felt his heart thump heavily in his chest when his eyes grazed over the pitch-black letters. "...Why?" he finally managed to bring out.

"Tell me a story, Len." She folded her fingers together, resting her chin on top of them. "Were you already a writer when this case made the headlines a couple of years back?"

He seemed to hesitate, his gaze shifting from the letter in his hands to the girl that had it in her possession. "Not for the newspaper I am currently employed at," he confessed. "I think that I've written a couple of articles at that time, but none of them were crime-related. I was still working on my writing skills at that point, just starting out... Why do you ask?"

"Well, the case was as popular among the media as it was among the detectives," she informed him. "But I guess a starting writer wouldn't be picked to send."

He shook his head. "Everything I know was through reading the morning papers. What I can recall is that he was... different. He always left messages to the detectives working on the case. He was never caught, because they couldn't find any evidence." Once more his gaze shifted to the ink-written words. "...But this is serious," he declared, his voice wavering just slightly. "You need to – "

"Don't bother stating that I need to stay on my guard," she warned him. "The day that I have received this letter is quite a while back. This letter has been in my possession for a longer period of time and we have well passed the expiration date of this threat."

"That may be," he nodded absently. "...But isn't the letter that you showed us earlier a recent one?" he asked, raising his eyebrow at her skeptically.

She broke into a smile. "What if I told you that that one is just as old?"

He coldly gazed back at her. "Then I would be calling you a liar," he stated.

Different-colored eyes glazed over at that moment and she almost seemed to pout, amusement fading away from her expression. Len continued to keep his eyes locked with her. "The seal wasn't chipped. There was no discoloration in the paper itself or on the envelope. Despite being opened, it was in perfect condition. This one.. this one isn't. There are plenty of signs that it has been read several times."

She tapped her nails against the wood of the table. "What are you implying, detective?" she stoically asked him, a hint of annoyance surfacing in her tone.

He shoved the letter towards her, forcing her to lower her gaze. "This is not just any letter..." he stated. "This is the promise of a serial killer."

"A death threat," she confirmed, leaning back in her chair.

He frowned at her. "You are not taking this seriously."

"I wouldn't say that," she responded. "Receiving such a letter from a serial killer is similar to finding your cat murdered on your doorstep. But you're making it sound as if I was special." She stared right back at him. "I was not."

He seemed to repress a sigh. "You are only in business for five months. If this really is a letter from years ago... why would he have send it to you? Why would he call you the detective girl if you weren't even employed as one?"

"Why are we talking about this again?" she replied.

"Because you were the one that brought it up!" he shouted in his frustration.

A tense silence passed between them. The writer finally tore his gaze away from her, glaring at the letter that had started this conflict.

"There was no pattern in those murders," the detective girl sighed, folding her arms together. "The gender, age and status were never the same. Most of the letters he wrote were delivered at the doorstep of the detective agencies, right under their noses."

The writer stiffly nodded.

"The remarkable thing is that the first letters were send to a couple of the most famous, well-paid detectives," she continued. "Until he told them in a letter on body number three that that they were incapable and unworthy of their fame. It angered a lot of people. From that point on, the case had started to make all the headlines. There were plenty of smaller detective agencies that wanted to prove their capability, insisting to be part of the murder investigation."

The young man glanced at her. "Where were you involved?" he asked.

"Me?" she said. "I was merely an assistant."

The blonde man blinked at that. "I would have thought you were at least in the learning. He calls you 'the detective girl' in his letters."

"At that time I had been working in a small detective agency in Manchester," she explained. "I've had the fortune to work for a great detective. For a man in his late thirties, he was younger than most of his coworkers, but just as capable. He was a kind-hearted man that was would work day and night on a case without hesitation. His goal was to set the world free from injustice, a goal that even he called naïve. But he was determined to make it a little better, willing to dedicate his life to it. He didn't treat me as an assistant. He treated me as a partner. And I..." she took a breath. "I liked Al a lot." She looked up, meeting his gaze. There was a mournful smile on her face. Len felt his heart beat heavily in his chest at the sight of it.

"...You liked him?" he could not help but repeat and she seemed surprised by his statement, breaking into an awkward smile.

"Not romantically, if that is what you're implying. He was someone I looked up to. When a fourth victim was found, the larger agencies had no choice but to allow other agencies to investigate as well. At that point, they'd swallowed their pride in an attempt to catch the culprit. The detective agency I worked in, had an outstanding reputation despite its small size and low funding. We were invited and my employer was determined to find a clue others had overlooked. We spend hours searching, but there was not a clue to be found." She reached for the glass of water, pausing their conversation to take a sip from it. "...But when I took hold of the victim's wrist, I noticed that something was missing instead."

The young man stared at her. "What was it?" he asked.

"It didn't help the case, but in a room without any evidence, it was an accomplishment. There was a charm missing from her golden bracelet. I noticed a larger gap between two charms and the tiniest damage to the bracelet itself. Since she had thirty-six charms around that bracelet, it wasn't an obvious clue. She was a wealthy woman, so I spoke to the maid in charge of her jewels. The charm that was missing, was a lotus flower representing a long life. The murderer had taken it away, as he had taken the long life ahead of her. It was a pun." She placed the glass back on the table with a blunt thud. "Not a week later, a stranger passed by in a busy street, pushing a letter into my hands. I recognized the blood-red envelope and without hesitation, I gave it to my employer. I didn't expect it back..." Her gaze lowered to the thick piece of paper. "It wasn't addressed to him," she muttered.

Len followed her gaze, softly reading the letter that was written a couple of years ago. He noticed how she almost seemed to tense at the words. "'My dearest detective girl. I find you endearing. I am tempted to take you away.'"

"I wasn't a detective," she muttered then. "Yet he acknowledged me as one. But he also acknowledged me as his next victim. My employer feared for my safety. He send me to a train to Liverpool immediately."

Len averted his gaze when he let her story sink in. He softly repeated the town she'd been send to. It was quite a distance away from London.

"One morning newspaper later and my employer was found dead," Rin murmured.

The writer's head snapped up.

"I heard that another letter has been left on top of his body, but they never published it." Her fingertips brushed over the letter. "I kept this one... I read it occasionally, if only to remind me why I took this occupation to begin with..."

"...If it's you." Len stared directly in her eyes when she raised her head, his voice soft, but confident. "If it's you, he will be brought to justice some day. I am sure of it."

Her lips spread into a smile. "That is kind of you," she told him. "To be honest, I hadn't expected the letter in this case to be a fake."

"Of course not," he replied. "The one who wrote it did have knowledge about that case. Not enough to make the perfect replica, so I doubt that they had their hands on a real letter... but the culprit should have seen photos of it at least."

She rested her head on her hand. "I guess money can buy anything these days..." she muttered. "Well, that was my life story anyway. Do you have anything you'd like to share? Since you have switched carriers, I can conclude that you're not seeking vengeance for your parents' murder."

The writer let out a low breath. "I want to believe that he will get what he deserves one day... but I won't actively be part of it. That is what I have decided for myself."

"A wise decision," she informed him, before raising from her seat and stretching her arms. "Well, it is getting rather late. How about we both say goodnight here and continue this investigation tomorrow?"

"I'm fine with that," he nodded, raising from the seat as well.

She patted him gently on the shoulder. "I will wake you up tomorrow morning," she announced. "It will be early, so be sure to catch some sleep while you can."

"I will," he said, stepping away from her. "Well, goodnight."

She smiled, waving at him when he looked back in the door opening. "Sweet dreams."

With a soft click, he closed the door behind him. Her hand stopped in midair, her fingers folding back in the palm of her wrist. She leaned on the small table, her gaze momentarily resting on the two glasses of water and the letter in-between. Silently, she placed a strand of hair behind her ear.


	9. The Victim

In the silent hallway, covered by a blanket of the night, the quiet click of a lock being forced into place reached the ears of the young man. He pressed his back firmly against the wall, listening to metal clashing together and watching her hand silence its sound. He counted the seconds in his head before moving from his safe position, knowing what distance to keep in order to stay unnoticed.

In the late hour, the raging storm clashed against the glass windows. It seemed to cover her light footsteps perfectly as she glided through the hallways, with only the occasional flash of lightning illuminating her slim figure. He watched her place her hand on the door, opening it and entering the room.

He stepped before the closed door, tempted to peek inside, but he had to be patient for this to work out the way he wanted it to. Pressing his ear against the door, he could mostly hear the sound of rain with only a blunt click and the howling wind as a diversion to the storm. But he did catch unto the distinct sound of the moving rings of curtains. For minutes he kept this position, merely listening and closing his eyes in concentration to seek the low sound of a voice he was so familiar with.

Since the thunder kept roaring in the background and the small gap underneath the door remained pitch-black after a good amount of time waiting, he finally felt safe enough to place his hand on the silver doorknob. The gap he created was just large enough for him to see through. The room he was looking into was dark; with the curtains closed, he could only see the vague silhouettes of the people he was technically spying upon. The detective girl was sitting on the bed, her head slightly bend to the person she was quietly speaking to. Her short bangs fell past her face and it was too dark to see her expression when she whispered words he could finally catch unto: "...had the ability to get me into trouble..."

Millina was still lying in the exact same position they left her in, with only her moving lips visible as an expression of emotion. He had to focus completely on the lady's higher-pitched voice to be able to hear the soft whisper that left her lips. "...Ring." And even then, he wasn't sure if he heard it correctly... did she mouth Ring or Rin?

A short laugh, soft and guanine escaped the detective girl's lips. The youthful innocence alone made his heart skip a beat at it. "Silly nickname that was," the detective girl stated, before shaking her head softly. "No... silly nickname it still is..."

He could see the silhouette of a hand reaching out. The detective girl did not stir or move away, allowing herself to be caressed. And he could not help but furrow his eyebrows at the intimidate display of affection accepted by a person that would usually emotionally shut herself out. "Thank you," she gently replied.

And this caused the detective girl to lower her head. "There is no reason to."

Millina's hand did not move from its place. "You really are a kind person," she responded. A silence passed between the two of them as the lady combed through locks of hair that were dark-grey in the absence of light. "...How can you say that?" Rin muttered then. "I came here for my own selfish reasons."

"...You did not have to come back to apologize," Millina's words rang out.

"I owe it to you," the detective girl admitted in a low tone. "You know what tomorrow will bring. I can't protect you."

Placing his hand flatly to lean against the door that was standing between them, the young man stepped as close as he could to that door. No matter how many times he reviewed this in his mind, he could only conclude that they shared more than the simple relationship between a detective and a previous case acquaintance. And this was confusing in itself, since he had seen Rin react coldly to the lady before.

"...Will you stay with me for tonight then? Not... as a detective, but as my friend?" Millina had asked from her.

He could picture the detective girl's uneasiness at this question. "...I can't." Earlier on, he had been convinced that she could care less for the lady but how wrong he had been in his assumptions. "When I leave this room, our past will be of no relevance anymore. And this will be our final goodbye."

"If only I had been able to find you sooner..." The lady's voice held a hint of sadness. "I wanted to restore it all to you... the money your family's mansion made on the market, as well as the amount we inherited. You were entitled to it. When I think about it after all these years, I know that my father should have taken you in after Oliver –."

"It's fine," she interrupted. Len tensed at the sharp edge in her tone, recognizing it as an indication to close the topic. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"....I hired you because I missed you," Millina confessed. "I missed you... so much."

His vision was only slowly adjusting and by that logic, he knew that the detective girl's would too; at this moment she should able to see the vague contours of the furniture. He had an advantage by looking into a lighter room, but couldn't help but wonder how much time he has left before she would be able to see the darkness of an opened door.

"Both my marriage and my friendship turned out to be a joke," the lady then spoke.

Regardless of that, the young man was reluctant to move from his position, knowing that this information would not have reached him through the detective girl herself. And Len couldn't help but wonder how much else she had deliberately withheld from his knowledge. This wouldn't be the first time he had caught her telling him a lie.

Millina continued to whisper words that weren't directed at him. "I regret pulling you into the mess I have made."

Rin exhaled a breath. "I warned you not to leave the ballroom."

The words left the lady's lips in a low mutter, in a tone that didn't seem to suit the graceful and kind woman he had come to meet before. "...He never was happy with just me. He desired more than I could give him." It was such a clear contrast, that for a moment, he couldn't comprehend that her tone could carry such grief and bitterness. "In the end, I just hadn't been able to deliver."

He could feel his heart pound faster at the confession those words seemed to hint at.

The detective girl chose not to respond immediately, or perhaps she hesitated as well, because she did pull back to create distance between them. "Where is she now?"

He could see the lady shake her head. "We did not need her," she stated. "He did not need her. He should not have wanted more. If he had... settled with me, then this would never have..." The sound of a shaky inhale seemed to echo through the room and the quiet whimper that followed was something he could barely catch unto. " _...I would never have..._ "

Thunder rumbled loudly, symbolizing the end of the conversation. There was a clear shift the detective girl's posture when she had torn her gaze away. For a moment of rain-clattering silence, her eyes travelled across the room. The tone of her voice, that had become stiff and business-like, was a familiarity that made him tense. "I will be going now," she stated and he took an immediate step back. The last sight he saw was the detective girl leaning closer to Millina, pulling the blankets around her form. That was when he carefully pulled the door towards to its frame and shut his visual image. And while he longed to confront the detective with what he had just witnessed, this was neither the time nor the place. That is why, even if it was hard to pull his feet from the carpeted floor, that he stepped back from all this and left the hallway.

* * *

 

Lightening, thunder and heavy rain fell that night. It was only until the morning that lighter clouds started to fill the sky. Rain turned into drizzle, making it another gloomy day in England. The weather seemed to grieve along with the residents of the castle. The gravity of the situation only now started to sink in. The master of the castle, Keaton Callisford had been murdered. Everybody knew it; even the maids had somehow caught unto this information. The next morning was stiff, for everyone was still on their guard. Maids tried to smile professionally, but the traumatic chandelier accident didn't help their jumpy mood. Every once in a while, the sound of broken porcelain rang through the halls.

When the detective girl opened the door to her guest chamber, the surprise nearly made her drop a cup herself. " _Len?_ " she could only respond, gazing at the clothes that lied abandoned on the floor, to travel to the sight of bare shoulders and ankles, peeking underneath a thick blanket. And while there were no undergarments on the floor, she was appalled by the fact that he was using the blankets of  _her_ guest bed.

The young man cracked an eye open, gazing at her before burying his head back into the pillow. Before quickly shutting the door behind her, she only gazed back to reassure herself that no one else had seen the display of a scene she didn't feel like explaining. "Len,  _what_  are you doing?"

Not eager to respond, the writer's arms folded around the pillow and embraced it, groaning quietly in protest. He didn't seem willing to wake up just yet. This didn't affect the detective girl's will to interrogate him and she stepped deeper into the heart of the room before placing the half-finished cup of coffee on the small table. She approached the bed, but not before picking his blouse from the floor. And for a moment she paused as she held it up for observation. "It's damp," she noticed. This did stir a reaction out of the blonde youth, who turned his head to her and looked at her with tired, squinted eyes. "They were yesterday's, they're dirty," he answered lowly, his voice carrying the hint of an early morning. "I've been running in it."

She looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. "If that is the case, then why did you not change into your own room?" she asked him.

This gave Len enough reason to give her a foul look. "You know why," he grunted.

"Hm..." the detective girl mused, her eyes resting back on the white blouse. She tilted her head slightly to the right as she almost innocently worded her sentence. "Do I?"

In the ungodly early hour of the morning, the writer was all but willing to follow her in her game of pretense. He hugged the pillow tighter. "...Yes," he stated. "You do."

Apparently done with the piece of clothing, she tossed the blouse at the bed carelessly. "At least get dressed before heading back to your room to change," she ordered him. "I am willing to look past the fact that you have been entering and sleeping into my guest bedroom, since ours do look identical."

"Don't give me that," the writer bit back, grabbing hold of his blouse and taking that moment of anger to mentally convince himself to sit up. "You know that I couldn't enter my own room without you. I waited hours for you to come back here, but you never did."

Her eyes lightened up. "Ah, we're finally getting somewhere."

The young man's eyebrows furrowed and he tightened his grip on his blouse. Blue eyes accursedly stared at the detective girl. "Why did you lock my door?"

She gazed down, the edges of her lips stretching in an almost menacing smile. "Why weren't you inside that room to begin with?" she countered.

He narrowed his gaze at that, irritated at the questions she decided to raise. She knew exactly what kind of answers would lie beneath the surface. "...I didn't trust you."

Her smile widened. "Good," she exclaimed. "You are finally being honest with me."

The writer didn't seem as amused. "You seemed like the kind of mysterious person that would wander off in the middle of the night."

"Well-calculated," she had to admit. "You never went to your room to begin with. And I didn't trust you to stay in-doors for the rest of the night either, that is why I attempted to lock you in."

"I am still waiting for a good explanation for that," he told her.

The detective girl smiled mysteriously at him. "Aren't writers  _naturally curious_?" she proclaimed, quoting his words back at him. "I simply wanted a private conversation."

He broke their locked gazes, unfolding the blouse to stick his arm through it. It didn't matter that it was completely wrinkled; it was only a temporarily solution. He could see her eyes watching him as he started to button up. "...Can you hand me my trousers?" he mumbled.

She actually complied, tossing him the piece of clothing. While he attempted to make himself a bit more presentable, she reached for the cup she had placed on the table before, taking another sip from the dark-brown substance. "Are we heading for breakfast?" he asked her, changing subjects as he stepped away from the warm bed to pick up the rest of yesterday's attire.

"This is breakfast," she commented dryly, raising her cup. "Do you want to share?"

He paused, his fingers absently folded around his left sock that only half-covered his foot. "...No," he objected. "Yesterday, you skipped dinner and you didn't get an ounce of sleep last night. You can't function properly like this." He reached for his shoes.

"Are you ever going to stop concerning yourself about my wellbeing?" she frowned.

He looked irritated at her. "Fine," he exhaled. "Then  _I_  can't function without a proper breakfast." He pulled the strings on his shoes a little tight, knotting it.

She pouted."We're only heading for the kitchen, I am not wasting my time at a breakfast table," she was willing to compromise. "But let us head to your room first."

He rose from his feet, the waistcoat and tie in his hand as he nodded, agreeing to this. When she turned to grab the door handle, he averted his gaze. "Have you found her?"

The detective girl stopped, her hand frozen on the handle of an half-opened door. Slowly, she turned her head back to him. "...Who?" she questioned.

His stance didn't falter. "The second victim," he stated.

Dazzling eyes, that had continued to pierce into his, had grown distant. With a click, she closed the door again. "...I did."

The writer tensed at the words he hadn't expected to hear just yet. "...You did?" he repeated. He watched her nod her head once and somehow, he found himself unwilling to believe her. Was she truly being honest with him?

"You heard the lady's confession last night..." Rin quietly concluded.

"Would you have kept it from me?" he asked her. "...Or would you have kept it from everyone?"

Her eyebrows knitted together at that. "I don't like what you are hinting at."

Blue eyes gazed into the different-colored eyes of the detective girl. "She is important to you, isn't she? Lady Millina Callisford-Vanquost."

"Not in the slightest," was what the detective girl answered. "I came to that room last night to get a confession out of the lady. Since we are past acquaintances, I used the bound that we had once shared in order to lure her into a false sense of security."

"...And that is why you went to her room by yourself?" he filled in for her.

Her frown deepened at the light tone of his voice. "...What?" she expressed.

"...I think I finally understand what you've been doing all along." He raised a hand to her face and she tensed when he gently pinched her cheek. He pressed his face closer to hers, softly speaking the words. "If there is one thing I have learned from my years as a detective, it is that people often wear masks. They try to hide their true feelings and emotions from others, pretending to be kinder, lovelier or politer than they really are. Aren't you the same...  _Rin_?"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Every rude statement you have made, every cold shoulder you have given... weren't they just to protect yourself? Aren't you a lot kinder then the image you're presenting?"

She removed his arm. "Millina was my childhood friend," she bitterly stated. "Once. A long time ago. It will not affect me. I refuse to show weakness like that."

His eyes softened, looking down at her with an almost distant expression. "We all have people we care about in our lives. It isn't weakness at all."

She averted her gaze. "I am ending this case with my own hands," she coldly proclaimed.

He nodded. He watched her as she opened the door once more. It was only in her nature to take a step forward instead of taking a step back. As her assistant, he was willing to follow her to wherever she wanted to go. Until they would finally reach the conclusion together.

* * *

 

"Are you sure that you can handle a murder scene a second time?" she coldly asked. He had been confused when she had dragged him to the third floor after breakfast, pausing before a door to a room they had not been before. And now, he hesitated as he could only imagine what kind of scene would await them. "I... will be fine," he breathed. He had already grabbed his notebook and pen when they made their way up. In curt words he had described the murder of Master Keaton and the suspicion of Lady Millina. He failed to do this yesterday in all the commotion, but he needed to write a story in the end. Sometimes, he needed to remind himself of that. "I have been preparing myself for Lady Gillium's death since she disappeared last night."

This caused the detective girl to turn her full attention back at him. "How did you ever reach that conclusion?" she boldly questioned him and this caused the writer's cheeks to redden. "...I had already known about the affair. I was told at the masquerade," he decided to tell her.

"I see..." she mumbled, turning to the door. "Well, you're not half-bad at this job." She shoved the key inside the lock, turning it around. He froze when the door opened. A muff smell came from a very dark room. The only visible light was peeking along the edges of closed curtains. It didn't take long for him to realize that they were entering someone's bedroom. The detective girl simply went ahead of him and stepped further into the room. Just like last night, his eyes needed to readjust to the lack of light. The large bed in the middle of the room certainly stood out the most and realization only started to dawn on him when he noticed the amount of stuffed animals that accompanied the small figure covered underneath oversized blankets. He felt his jaw clench. This couldn't be right.

The loud rushing sound of curtains forced aside, nearly caused him to flinch. Daylight, though mostly dimmed by the thick grey clouds, illuminated the room. He could now see the clear absence of a healthy pink color on that very pale skin. The hint of the color blue on her lips was a cruel sight to behold and he couldn't tear his eyes from the little girl in front of him. The little girl that was the second victim.

"But, how did this..." he could only bring out.

The detective girl stepped next to him, putting her gloves on. She lifted the blankets to reveal a small blue and purple neck. "Strangled, obviously," she told him.

It was a horrible sight. "How could someone do this to a child her age?" he exclaimed. She lifted her head, staring at him through half-lidded eyes. "I found her here last night, already too far gone to do anything about it."

He frowned at the corpse of the child. "...I can't even... Did Lady Millina truly..."

Rin's eyes narrowed almost immediately. "She did," she coldly stated.

The writer hesitated, glancing at her. "...Do you have any evidence? A motive?"

This caused the detective girl's gaze to harden. "She was the one who brought Julie Callisford back to bed and the last person that had seen her alive," she reminded him. "I did find actual evidence against her. Together with the evidence she left on her husband's corpse, I am sure that this is a closed case for the police. But I dislike closing it here. The motive for killing her husband is a lot more clear than her motive for murdering her only child. Even after our conversation last night, I am still debating whether she simply snapped, or if there is more behind the story. Things do not fit the way they are placed now."

The writer frowned at her. "You're saying that as if... this is only a puzzle you need to finish..."

The detective girl raised her eyebrow. "Interesting metaphor. I believe you've said something similar before. In a way, you could compare it like that." Her eyes travelled down to Julie. "However, this is a little more complicated. The pieces can fit in different ways and some pieces are merely trying to distract you. There are multiple ways of finishing the picture and the end result will differ, depending on how you've placed the pieces." She glanced back to see a bewildered expression. "Ah, perhaps that was a little too cryptic," she had to admit.

"The way I see it, the only thing you're missing is a clear confession out of her," he thought out loud, turning away from the lifeless body of a once bright and polite young girl. He shook his head, his blue eyes travelling back to the detective girl's expression. This should affect anyone that knew compassion; witnessing the mangled body of a brutally murdered child. But like at the crime scene of Keaton Callisford, the detective was completely calm. Now knowing that this was no indication of her emotional state, he decided to express his concern for her. "Are you alright?" he couldn't help but ask. "...I can't image that this doesn't affect you."

She gave him a dangerous look. "My judgment isn't affected," she stated, the strict tone of her voice holding no room for debate. "I know exactly what is going on."

He heaved a breath, knowing that she had taken his words the wrong way yet again. He wasn't mocking her ability to stay rational, but knew that she would get defensive if he would try to explain it to her. "...Are you going to investigate her right now?"

"No. I already did all the work last night," she answered. And while he could easily question her decision to investigate a murder scene in the pitch-black darkness of the night, he wouldn't. He knew that the detective girl was capable in her work and she seemed extra determined to prove this fact after she realized that her conversation with her childhood friend hadn't been private. "Then..." the writer quietly asked. "Can we leave?" The blonde girl met his gaze for a moment, studying his expression. "Just... can we please leave," he breathed, averting his gaze.

Trading the bright bedroom for the dimmed hallway, the detective girl locked the door behind her. The writer bended forward almost immediately, his hands resting on his knees while long bangs covered most of his face. "Just... need a moment," he explained to her, leaning against the cold wall.

"Naturally..." she absently replied. The writer sank through his knees at her consent and took a deep, shaky breath. Rin did not say anything in the passing moments that followed and he realized that she was purposely keeping her distance. She did not comment on the pathetic scene, she did not call him weak nor ask him if he was alright. She merely waited for him to pick himself from the floor.

They both hadn't anticipated the appearance of a young maid, looking at the both of them in surprise. The young girl with short, red locks of hair carried a small tray with a steaming cup of tea and a small sandwich. It wasn't hard to figure out why she had come here. "Oh my... Sir, are you alright?" she asked Len with a soft, gentle voice.

"He's fine," the detective girl monotonously answered for him.

The writer nodded, slowly taking the moment to rise from his feet. "I'm fine," he reaffirmed. "I will be fine."

Rin's gaze shifted to the writer, before resting back on the maid. "Please take your tray and turn around," she ordered her. The young girl looked bewildered, her golden-colored brown eyes widening. "Madam?" she asked, hesitating for a moment. "Julie – "

"Julie Callisford's room is forbidden to enter from this point on," the detective girl stated, cutting through the air like a knife. "Take your tray and  _turn around_."

The young maid's lips parted and closed again, torn between her morning duty and the need to follow the orders from an authority figure. She took one glance at the closed door, before nodding. "...I understand," she said, before turning away. Her steps were dim on the carpeted floor and the detective girl watched her retreating figure turn the corner.

"Have you calmed down?" she then asked him.

Len stiffly nodded. "Yes," he breathed.

He could see the skepticism in her eyes, but she pulled herself away from the doorway nonetheless, keeping her opinion unspoken. "Then, there is only one thing left for us to do," she proclaimed, giving him a small smile while stepping further into the hallway. "We are heading to your room next, Len."

He followed closely behind her. "What would you need there?" he asked.

"Now, we can't be rude. It is only policy to return something borrowed." The edges of her lips spread and a glister of amusement was visible in her different-colored eyes. "You didn't want to keep that dress, did you?" she chuckled.

 


	10. The Ending

"Do you really think that this is alright?" he could not help but ask. His hands were still folded around the lid of the suitcase, his gaze on the recently repacked belongings. The detective girl had requested this; once he had returned the piece of clothing she had specifically asked for, she had instructed him to pack the rest. There was no need to spend another night, was what she had said.

"Of course it is," she stated simply. "Why wouldn't it be? The culprit is caught and confined. We might as well get ready for our departure."

The suitcase closed with a loud thud. The locks clicked into place. "...I am not talking about the case itself."

The detective girl remained silent at this. The young man turned his head to her and met a distant gaze. She had not left her position since the moment they had entered the room and had chosen to linger close to the doorway. The golden-colored dress was loosely hanging on her arm and her bemused expression was a sight he had now grown rather familiar with.

"I am talking about you," he elaborated, feeling the urge to express this to her. His hand blindly folded around the handle of the suitcase, lifting it from the bed. "Are you really alright with this kind of ending? Lady Millina was important to you, wasn't she?"

It certainly triggered a reaction out of her. "Are you suggesting that I should let this affect me?" she responded, the bitterness of the situation surprisingly surfacing in the tone of her voice. He had the feeling that she did not like him repeating knowledge she hadn't wanted him to gain, but despite of that, he would not hesitate to bring it up. "I would not judge you for having a natural human reaction," he continued.

There was a glint of fury in the eyes of the detective girl. "Should I  _not_ arrest her for the murders? What do you want me to do, Len?" Now that he was deliberately poking a sore spot, she was having difficulty not to release her frustration on him. The only reason she kept her voice from raising was the sheer will to keep her posture intact.

"Be honest with me," he replied. "It's not healthy to keep everything inside like this."

But she only coldly narrowed her eyes at him. "Forgive me if I don't feel like crying my eyes out. I have better things to do than to satisfy your curiosity."

He kept his lips together at that. It might be better to keep his silence. She had once again chosen to keep her distance and no sweetly-formed words of compassion and understanding would change that. But while he could certainly understand her skeptical nature, he longed to see more of her character. He had been trying to grasp her thoughts ever since they met, but it was like trying to catch smoke each time. The moment he seemed to take hold of it, it slipped through his fingers. He nearly sighed. The essence of his relationship with the detective girl was exactly like that.

He watched the blonde girl heave a calming breath as she allowed the door to support her weight. He could feel his heart leap in his chest the moment her back touched the door and he had to squeeze his hold on the suitcase tighter in order to keep his distance. She seemed oblivious enough about the position she was in, but he found himself strangely memorizing each and every detail of the intimidate moment that passed less than twenty-four hours ago. She was standing in the exact same position against the door of his guest bedroom and she was making it very difficult for him to keep him from repeating it. He knew that he would not mind stealing her detective hat once more, to lean in until there was only little distance between them... He could only break into a sad smile, trying to still the heavy feelings in his chest that were burning more fiercely than ever before. She had warned him not to give him a demonstration again, had she? Provoking her now did not seem advisable.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" her voice called out. Her brows were pressed together and among curiosity there was a skepticism glistering in her expressive eyes.

He softly shook his head at her. "I am going to bring my belongings to the carriage now," he announced. "Maybe you can take back that dress in the meantime?"

Her eyes clouded over. "That is your method to speed things along?" she murmured.

He blinked at that. This is the first time that she mentioned any feelings of dread towards the end of the case. While it would surely be for a different reason than his, he found himself silently agreeing with her. These hours had been intense for the both of them. Their cooperation had been frustrating but entertaining at the same time. "I will be taking your belongings with me as well," he informed her.

Rin's eyebrows frowned together at that. "Doesn't your shoulder still hurt?" she questioned.

The shoulder he had fallen on while protecting her... he could almost appreciate the hint of concern in that carefully constructed sentence. "It does, but I will be fine. I am able to carry two suitcases with me," he replied, taking a couple of steps toward her.

"Don't bother," she told him. "You haven't given me time to pack."

"You never unpacked," he easily countered. A spark of annoyance flashed in those different-colored irises. He smiled kindly at her while stating his offer more clearly. "It's fine, I promise not to look into your belongings. There's no need to walk to the carriage twice, right?"

She moved away from the door, taking a step toward him. "Len," she softly called out to him, causing his ears to perk. "It takes approximately seven minutes to reach the carriage from this place in the castle. I will give you fifteen minutes, but not a second more. We'll meet back here in this hallway... is that clear to you?"

To be perfectly honest, this order did not surprise him in the slightest. "Are we heading to Lady Millina after that?" he decided to just ask her.

She averted her gaze. "We are." He watched her fold her slender fingers around the doorknob and turn it around. Without so much as glancing back at him, she left the room and entered the hallway. He followed her to see her disappear around the corner and he quietly closed the door to the guestroom behind him without a last glance around. Although he had been grateful it had been provided to him, he did not feel any sentimental value to pieces of furniture he had hardly used. Pausing before the bedroom door next to him, he tried the doorknob. He sighed. He should have expected her to lock it.

Glancing at his wristwatch, he knew that there was only little time to spare. She had given him a limited time to arrange their departure and he needed to move along.

* * *

 

The figure underneath the blankets stirred when the door was opened in one quick movement. What unnerved the detective girl wasn't that the woman was lying in bed at this time in the morning – she couldn't care less about the maid skipping her early duties. It was the fact that her position reminded her that much of Lady Millina that it made her yank the blankets off her without even closing the door behind her first.

Shocked ice-blue eyes gazed back at her, legs instantly curling up.

"I brought your dress back," she simply stated, dropping the folded piece of clothing on the maid's pillow. "Oh, thank you for lending it."

"Wait – miss detective," Lily asked from her, lifting herself from the mattress. "Could I have a word with you?"

Instead of being angry at her for the less than subtle method to wake her up, the maid was surprisingly polite. Remembering that the woman had the tendency to come off as rude, Rin could only raise a skeptical eyebrow at this change in behavior. For her to be in her bed at this time of day could only indicate a restless night. It couldn't be blamed; the chandelier incident must have been rather traumatic. "That's fine," she answered. "I have been meaning to ask you a couple of questions as well."

The maid's bare feet stepped on the carpeted floor. Her long locks of platinum-blonde hair were ruffled and she was wearing her long white nightgown. But when she placed her hands together, that appearance did not make her any less graceful. "What can I do for you?" Lily asked with a warm, grateful smile on her face. It seemed so genuine that the detective girl started to feel restless about it.

"Last time I was here, I have been asking you about that dress," she announced, seeing ice-blue eyes sparkle in recognition. "I mentioned that it was an expensive-looking dress and you told me that it had been a gift for your twelve years of service in the Callisford household. Is there anything you would like to add to that statement?"

For a moment, the maid averted her gaze. It took her a while before she was able to find her voice, but when she used it, she provided a clear enough answer. "My master had given it to me personally. He was grateful to the service I provided, but a little extra grateful to the secret I've been willing to keep from my mistress," she actually confessed. "He never wanted my mistress to know about her friend."

The detective girl huffed. "I figured as much. If I had known about his affair with Gillium Noverin sooner, who knows if I could have made a difference?" she sighed to herself. The maid's head bowed lower, but she paid no attention to that. "Where did their rendezvous usually take place?" she interrogated, not an ounce of shame in the choice of her words. "The guest bedroom on the first floor, I would presume?"

The maid nodded. "Despite of my silence, my mistress had caught them there a couple of months ago..." was what she answered. "She had suspected it, but was still in great shock. She locked herself away for five weeks, barely eating and drinking anything. During that time, she refused to speak to anyone..."

The detective girl tilted her head, spotting an opening and taking it. "She would not even talk to her daughter?" she proclaimed. She noticed the shoulders of the woman stiffen, her eyes widening just slightly, a hint of panic silently ebbing away in those light-colored irises. Just as suspected. "N-no, not anyone."

"They weren't close?" she theorized, watching the maid's parted lips close together. Distinctly remembering Millina's reaction when Julie entered the masquerade, it had always felt as if something hadn't been quite right. The tone of the lady's voice had held panic, but instead of sounding overly concerned, it felt hostile in its own way. The way she listed the number of people present in the castle had also seemed strange. Her husband was mentioned first, yet her daughter would be mentioned after listing the servants, as if she was even less in rank than them.

"I apologize," Lily then sighed. "Not even after his death, will I break my master's orders not to speak of it. But if there is anything else I can do for you..."

This time, Rin visibly frowned at the maid's eagerness to assist. "What changed?" she stated, the annoyance making the words colder than she had intended. "Yesterday, you were snarling at me not to stain your dress and you weren't half this willing to answer my questions."

The maid gave her an apologetic smile. "You have earned my respect, miss detective. When we were cleaning the ballroom... if you hadn't been there..."

Realization dawned on the detective girl and she almost took a step back in astoundment. She took a breath, suddenly realizing that this conversation could easily be...

"I landed on the chest of the person who pulled me out of harm's way," the maid knowingly smiled. "Detective, I could tell the difference."

_Not private_. Spinning on her heel, she leaped to the opened doorway. Her short locks circled when she sharply turned her head left and right, only to meet the sight of a long, abandoned hallway. Pure relief made her momentarily close her eyes, resting her forehead against the now closed door. "Have you told anyone?" was the first question she raised.

"...No." The light-heartedness in the blonde maid's voice had disappeared, along with any warmth in the temperature of their conversation. "I had kept it to myself."

The detective girl flatly placed her hands on the door, before pulling away. "Keep your tongue. Do not repeat this to anyone. Flowers that wilt prematurely are the worst kind of sight," she muttered. "I hate seeing it more than anything." With that, the detective girl yanked the door open again and left it without waiting for a response.

The stress building up in her head made her chew on the inside of her cheek. The only way to confirm this new theory that she formed at this information would be finding Gillium or interrogating Millina. She had the feeling that both will be impossible at this point. She did not want to show any weakness, but dragging her feet forward to an ending she was not content with felt exhausting in itself. Realizing that she had approximately four more minutes before Len was forced to meet her, she started to pace around the hallways in her lightly agitated state.

Abruptly, her feet stopped as she gazed at the detailed wooden door of another guest room. There was a hand beckoning her from a small gap that caught her curiosity. She didn't see a face behind the broad hand, but she recognized the large wedding ring. Following her instinct - which Len would definitely scold her for - she stepped towards it.

In an instant, her breath was taken away. The moment she entered the room, she was pushed back against the door. She glanced up and looked into the sea-colored eyes of the purple-haired man. His muscular arms had a firm grip on her. If he didn't have such a clean alibi, she might have hit him the very instant he laid his hands on her.

"Lovely morning," she announced. "Mind inviting me to a nice restaurant before we get cozy?" Tensing, he man understood how improper this situation seemed to be and took a step back. "I apologize for the situation, but I can only spare a moment." She had noticed the absence of his wife immediately and assumed his statement was related to that.

"Really?" the detective girl mused. So do I."

"Have you put more thought into what I told you yesterday?" Gaillard asked her.

The blond girl tensed, looking at him warily. Her voice was soft when she parted her lips, hesitating for a moment. "...Damn it," she muttered, wanting to hit her head at the back of that door for her own stupidity. "I hadn't noticed."

"I know that you are suspecting my sister-and-law of the crime..."

The detective girl narrowed her eyes. This man was more intelligent than she had accounted him for. No one else had made the connection. They all thought that the lady was merely grieving over her loss and locked herself into her room.

"I never liked how my brother treated women, but I have a soft spot for the one he married with. Please reconsider your suspicion of her. Isn't it strange to you that Gillium Noverin has disappeared without a trace?"

The detective girl kept silent at this.

"I know about their affair," Gaillard told her. "That it continued after the birth of his daughter is a thought I am repelled by. Even if it was a twisted method to keep this betrayal from reaching Millina, his love for her was corrupted to the core." He sighed, his brows furrowing together in a stressed frown. "When I heard about that letter, I honestly expected my sister-in-law to be the victim," he continued. "That way, Gillium Noverin would have clear access to the family she longed to be part of. I never expected my brother to be murdered, but maybe he finally tried to reason with her."

Two different-colored eyes stared back at him, her face blank of emotion. "A heavy accusation," she muttered. "But there is no evidence to back this up. As unfortunate as it may be, it is the evidence that tells the story here. And at the moment, I have collected more than enough for the arrest of Millina Callisford-Vanquost."

The grip on her shoulders slackened and the man turned his head away.

"Now," the detective girl softly stated. "What did you tell me at the masquerade?"

A sudden confusion was reflected in the sea-colored eyes when they met hers again. "Excuse me?" he asked again.

She was too impatient to explain herself. "I need you to repeat the exact words you told me at the masquerade," she repeated in a demanding tone.

She continued to gaze at him as the hesitation slowly ebbed away while he cleared his throat. Even though he looked skeptical, he did follow her demand. "...Lady Millina Vanquost," he stated once more. "...is infertile.

The detective girl's lips parted, her heart rate speeding up in the progress of the information. Suddenly, the lady's words echoed in her head and she almost gasped at the realization. It felt as if she had been trying to look into fog this entire time; seeing bits and pieces of the full picture and piecing it together to build an image of her surroundings. But in an instant, it was blown away and the image she had envisioned in her mind was a lot more detailed now that she was actually able to see clearly.

_He desired more than I could give him_.  _In the end, I just hadn't been able to deliver._

"Julie is the daughter of Lady Noverin," she breathed.  
She understood everything. She was staring straight at it. But instead of feeling appreciate or relieved at this conclusion, she could only feel her throat tighten. Because she was now forced to open her eyes to a very clear possibility.

Faintly, she heard Gaillard ask her something. But instead of answering him, she opened the door and met the fresh air in the hallway. She sucked it in immediately, sprinting through it with only determination to fuel her stamina. In the back of her mind, she could only conclude that she had already surpassed her scheduled meeting time with Len.

* * *

 

He felt his legs move on their own accord. There was something wrong.

It registered in his mind when he saw the detective girl running as if she was chased by something. Only by coincidence, their eyes met at the main staircase and the spark of fear in her eyes caused his chest to tighten. She disregarded him completely as she passed him, sharply turning left into the hallway. She hadn't called him or send him any signal to follow him, but he chased after her nonetheless.

"Wait!" he had called, his voice echoing through the hallway. He was sure that she had heard him, but she did not stop or slow down at all. Several thoughts entered his mind, but the thing he wondered the most, made his teeth clench. What did she discover in the small time frame he'd been gone?.. It was only until after she stopped, that he was able to catch up with her. She had already pushed the key into the lock hastily – were her fingers shaking? - and turned it around.

The door was slammed open and before he could fully comprehend the situation, bright light instantly blinded his vision. The contrast between the light room and the dark hallway only slowly ebbed away and what caught his eyes first were the pure-white curtains moving along with the rhythm of the wind... before a fully-opened window.

For a moment, he was focused on her ragged breaths alone in the silent room. They were deep and shaky, resounding through the room in an uneven pattern. It was as if the magic spell what kept him in place was only broken when she took that initiative step forward and crossed the boundaries of a place that almost felt holy in the intense silence. He did not stop her when she approached the bed. With a straightened back, she only hung her head low as she stared at the unfolded blankets. Slowly, her gloved fingers extended and touched the envelope on top of it, staring at the piece of paper. It was a pure white envelope, completely blank.

Diagonally pausing behind her, he gave her a respectable amount of distance. It was a simple, ordinary letter. There was no candle wax on the back of it as she turned it around and he watched the detective girl open it and reach the contents of the letter. He did not dare approach her further while her eyes roamed over the papers, giving her the privacy without asking unnecessarily early questions.

Slowly, a chuckle bubbled up in the throat of the detective girl and he felt his heart beating faster when it increased. Soon, her laughter filled the entire room and the sheer bitterness in her distorted laughter, made him uneasy. She stumbled forward and landed into the soft blankets of the unmade bed, her laughter resounding even while it was muffled.

Slowly, he stepped closer to her and stared down her fallen figure. There was a hollow feeling in his chest as he reached out to her. Slowly sinking to take a seat next to her, he gently placed his hand on her back. Turning his head away from the shaking form of the detective, he looked around the abandoned room. Drawers were opened and left completely empty. There was no sight of the teal-haired lady. In a timeframe between yesterday night and this late morning, she had disappeared. Only one conclusion could be drawn; she had fled.

The empty laughter seemed to go on forever and only subsided after the detective girl had no air left in her lungs, turning it into a coughing fit. It took her a couple of attempts to pull away from the blankets and when she met his gaze, the intensity of her unwavering stare made him swallow any words of consent he had been willing to share. Her long eyelashes fluttered a couple of times at their close distance and he felt his heart leap in his chest when she folded her arms around his waist and rested her forehead against his stomach. He stopped being aware of his surroundings. It was like the rest of the world ceased to exist. Slowly, hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her and embraced her, his cheek resting on the crown of her head.

"This is the end now... isn't it?" He wanted to answer her, but felt his throat tighten. An overwhelming sadness grabbed hold of his chest, that had nothing to do with the fact that a family tragedy had taken place, or that they hadn't managed to catch the murderer before she could escape. It was a pain in his chest, when he realized... that this was indeed the end.

* * *

 

He had not allowed her out of his sight for another second after that shared moment, expressing his concern for her in his little actions. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly, placing her hand on her shoulder after she had hung up the phone.

"What is there to talk about?" she replied indifferently, but her eyes had averted. She looked tired. "They're on their way and they will arrive within the hour."

Realizing that she would be sent to prison sooner or later, Lady Millina escaped with a few of her belongings. A carriage was missing out of the six the family owned. The rain had washed away any possible tracks. In the storm, no one had heard a thing.

Len nodded absently. "They were devastated..." he muttered, vividly remembering the expressions of Lucia and Gaillard when they told them the news. When he had finally convinced the detective girl to leave them alone to grieve, he had heard the quiet sobs through the closed door.

Now that the murderer had fled, the case has grown into a high-scale police investigation. A small detective agency such as the one she owns would never be able to track down a fugitive on the run. "She did not address you personally did she, in her letter," he sighed. "Didn't that upset you?"

Any lingering doubt about Millina's guilt was washed away with the letter the lady left behind. It contained a clear confession to both murders, hidden between the many words of regret. It told the story of a lady who had tried to give her husband a child for many years, only to conclude its impossibility. Instead of embracing that flaw, her husband had one day walked into the mansion with Julie, announcing it to be their daughter. Already carrying resentment to her husband's unfaithfulness that allowed this offspring, she later discovered the biological mother to be her best friend. And that their long friendship had concealed an equally long affair. The betrayal she had felt at this knowledge forced her to see the shards of the happy life she had been trying to piece together ever since. Forced to raise a child that wasn't hers, pretending to be friends with someone that had betrayed her and acting loving to a person who had vowed to share his life with her... The everlasting silent anger that smoldered inside her from day to day caused her to end the lives of the two people who hurt her most. The letter didn't mention Gillium, so it was still unsure whether or not she was responsible for her death as well.

"Actually, I am relieved," she glanced at him. "I'd rather not mention my previous acquaintance with Millina to the police. It is hardly relevant for them to know and I don't feel like sharing information that should have stayed private in the first place."  
He frowned at her decision, but chose not to debate her role in this outcome. "Can I now ask you what your relationship was with Lady Millina? I mean, more than the vague outlines I overheard."

She placed her head into her hand, sighing softly. "Fine," she mumbled softly. "I guess it's almost time to put all the cards on the table anyway." She met his gaze with a soft intake of breath. "I used to be childhood friends with Millina. My father owned a blooming company and met Millina's father at a party; you know how these high society things go... I used to play at her house every other week and since she was an only child, she took a liking to me as if I was her younger sibling."

The writer's gaze widened slightly at her providence of personal information.

"I met Keaton Callisford only once before," Rin stated while digging through her memories. "He was already Millina's fiancé at a young age. We were briefly introduced, but I never met him after that until we came here. My parents were murdered shortly after."

Len took in the detective girl's desolate expression and felt his heart leap in his chest.

"I was six," she softly continued. "When my brother shot my parents at the dining table. He could not handle the pressure my father put on him as his heir and snapped. Ironically, he could not shoot his younger sibling but did leave her crying in the blood of her parents," she bemusedly laughed. "He said he loved me too much."

Len frowned. "Oliver was his name, wasn't it?" he quietly asked her.

"You were paying close attention," she smiled at him. "Then you know what happened after that. I was too young to inherit anything, so every amount of money that the company and mansion made went to Millina's father. He did not reach out to help me, pocketed his reward for being my father's best friend and continued on living a comfortable lifestyle. I do not resent him for his selfish actions until this day; kindness is usually a façade in this world where everyone is struggling to achieve and retain their vision of happiness. I could only press my luck that I met the one man that selflessly looked after me when the old family maid no longer could. Needless to say, I never met Millina again up until we came here."

The frown of the writer deepened. "She called you 'Ring' didn't she?" he asked, causing the detective girl to blink. "An old nickname," she replied. "One I kept."

"I see..." he absently muttered. "It does sound like the sound a bell makes, doesn't it?"

This caused the detective girl to immediately stiffen, her heart catching in her throat and she widely stared at the writer as if she was looking at him for the first time.

"...The name Nirellin, that is."

Her stomach turned and a cold shudder ran down her spine. "That's... how do..." For the first time since their cooperation together, she could not begin to form the questions that formed in her mind. "That can't... did you – no, did Millina –"  
"So it was you," Len breathed and he closed his eyes for a moment. "...I thought you looked familiar when I first saw you again, but I couldn't be sure without asking you."

Her cheeks heated up in a flare of anger. "There is no way that you could obtain that information without –"

"We met before," he decided to interrupt her. "But it was a very long time ago, so you might not even remember it."

"Nonsense," she stated coldly. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest.

"The case of Ollivander Benjamin Rimms," Len informed her. "Shot his parents at the age of fifteen, then presumably committed suicide. His weapon murder and shoes were found in front of a nearby lake, but as I recall, his body was never located."

Her shoulders were drawn in, her eyes narrowed skeptically. "...How the hell do you know all this?" she muttered.

His blue eyes calmly gazed back at her. "I told you... we met before. There had been a bandage in front of your right eye though, that's why I haven't mentioned it until I was absolutely sure," he lightly shook his head. "It certainly explains why you're not good at expressing yourself. You were like that back then as well, weren't you?"

She took a step back, seemingly shaken.

"It was the first case my father brought me to," he continued to explain. "There, I saw a girl crying. There were no tears running down her cheeks, no sobs that came out of her mouth. But I could see her cry nonetheless."

Rin's lips only silently parting from each other, her eyes widened in disbelief.

Len held a hand through his bangs. "I can distinctively remember the police officers mutter admirably about your ability to stay strong; I remember hating them for saying that. Because you weren't keeping yourself strong... you were breaking apart from the inside."

it took her a moment to find her voice. "...You told me to cry," she whispered.

He mournfully smiled. "And you did," he softly stated. "And I embraced you."

She took another step back, the words of that shared moment echoing in her memory. "I can't believe this..." she shook her head, folding her arms around herself protectively.

"I never forgot about it," he breathed. "To think that we would meet again like this..."

She quietly laughed at his words, far from amused. "The world really is a cruel place."

Len looked around. "We still have some time before the police will arrive. Why don't we go somewhere else for a little while?" he asked her. "...I've been meaning to tell you something."

She followed his gaze and took a calming breath, the need for fresh air overwhelming. The hallway isn't the most ideal place for a more private conversation either. "Only if I get to pick where we are going," she stated.

"The rose garden," the soft laughter of the writer rang. "I should have expected it."

The garden was even more beautiful in daylight. Dewdrops still lingered and the occasional appearance of the sun made the roses look like sparkling jewels. The simple beauty of it almost mocked the horrible tragedy that had taken place inside.

Gazing at the red roses, he couldn't help but connect the deep, rich color with blood. He let out a soft breath, trying to keep his mind from drifting back to the case. The two days he had spent here, had affected him more than he thought they would. Standing here now, between the perfectly bloomed flowers, he realized that his life would forever be changed.

The detective girl had slowly taken a few steps away from him, creating a distance between the two of them. Despite his many attempts to start a conversation, she hadn't said a word in their walk towards the garden. Her eyes had been unfocused and she had seemed lost in thoughts.

"It's quiet here..." Her voice rang quietly through the garden, interrupting his thoughts. He heard her take a breath, watching her frame as she walked towards the bushes. "It makes me feel safe."

That seemed like a strange thing to say. He could only raise his eyebrow at the statement. "You're contradicting your own words. Wouldn't it be less safe, the quieter a place is?"

Instead of answering him, she reached out, fingertips lightly touching a rose. She gently stroked its petals and a graceful smile framed her face. That instant, he felt warmth spread in his chest, the peaceful gesture calming him. He had the feeling that she had already given him an answer.

Different colored eyes silently met his, glistering much like the flowers surrounding her. Heat filled his cheeks. Looking at the beautiful roses and the young woman standing between them, there wasn't a place in the world he'd rather be.

"This will be the end then..."

He felt his throat tighten, her words hitting him like a ton of bricks. The fluttering in his stomach quickly turned in a big knot, almost agonizingly painful as he stared back at her. It... wasn't as if he hadn't realized this himself. As things were going, this conversation in the garden will merely become a memory. Nothing more than that.

"I don't want that," he spilled words without thinking about them first.

Curiosity gleamed in her eyes. "Well, that's the way it is..." she started, with a voice surprisingly gentle. "This case has ended. We will go our separate ways. You will get to publish your story before tomorrow's newspaper and I will pick up another case."

He took another step forward, his heart pounding in his chest. "I would like to see you again... after this I mean."

Blank eyes stared back at him, her expression indifferent. "You're being unrealistic," she stated. "This case was a lucky strike. My previous cases barely make it to the newspaper as it is. You have a place in Cambridge and your work is there."

He parted his lips, ready to tell her that he didn't mind the distance.

"Personally, I wouldn't have time for visitations," she interrupted him. "I travel a lot and so do you. It's part of our jobs... Listen, Levon, this has to be the way things end."

He lowered his gaze. Of course, he knew she was right.

"But who knows..." she mused softly, as a cheeky smile made an appearance on her face. "In a different time, at a different place... Once allowed to, I might visit you instead." He shook his head at her. She was such a cruel person sometimes.

A soft wind blew, picking up a few strand petals. Gently, the red-colored rose petals travelled through the air, dancing around the detective girl as if she was the most beautiful flower in the garden. They softly brushed against her, playfully illuminating her radiant appearance, of which she seemed oblivious about.

And as his gaze locked with hers, he felt the determination in him rise.

"I won't leave you." His voice was soft, but determined. His blue eyes pierced into hers, staring with unwavering fixation. She must have picked up the change of atmosphere, because at that very moment, her shoulders tensed.

This feeling he had when he looked at her; he realized that he'd felt this way ever since he met her. The stirring in his chest only grew the more time he spent with her. This feeling he wanted to express... There was no point in denying it any longer.

"I am in love with you."

 


	11. The Writer

As she stood tall surrounded by the green rosebushes, the wind carried words that caused a pounding in her chest. Similar to the spiraling situation she noticed that the wind had started to grow stronger. The petals that were blown into the sky brushed against her skin as they were lifted high. Only the sound of leaves rustling together was audible as she kept her lips together.

She could not find the words to reply to his statement and kept her gaze fixated at the young man that just expressed his love for her. The wind played freely with her short blonde locks of hair; she hadn't yet noticed that her detective hat was blown several feet away. The stretching silence between them was starting to make the both of them uncomfortable. But, when he searched her face for an answer, she intentionally kept her expression blank. "...Rin...?"

The soft word that came from his lips made her tense. He looked at her with such a gentle expression, yet his brows were slightly curved in hesitation. The small question was merely an extension to his previous statement; a long moment had passed without her uttering a word in response. He wanted an answer and she wasn't sure which one to give him. "This is the first time," she stated, her words containing nothing but the truth. "Someone has ever confessed a romantic interest towards me."

His blue eyes seemed to light up at her words. "The time I've spend with you has been strange to say the least," he laughed warmly. He was trying to calm her down, wasn't he? "There were plenty of times where I was frustrated and angry with you, but there were plenty of times where I was genuinely glad to work at your side as well. You're unlike anyone I've ever met... and I've never felt this way for anyone else before." He took a small breath, his words softly spoken. "The last thing I want is us to be apart."

The detective girl shook her head. "I hadn't anticipated a confession," she mumbled.

This caused the writer to take a step closer and she hesitated to stay in the same position. "I'll say it again if you don't believe me," he firmly declared. "I'll say it as many times as you need me to."

She closed her eyes, resisting the urge to heave a sigh. "Do us both a favor and stop embarrassing yourself like this."

His eyebrows frowned at that statement. "For someone who has great self-confidence in their skills as a detective, you frequently insult yourself as a person," the writer stoically replied. She felt her heart leap in her chest. And when she gazed back at him, she noticed that his stance had straightened and he was looking at her with sharp eyes. "Even if you don't believe anything else I've told you, this is the truth," he repeated, the strong determination in his voice wavering her certainty. "I love you."

In the confusing mix of emotions flowing through her, she felt her cheeks heat up. "Isn't love a very strong word?" she decided to question. "Many people claim to love another person, while it is often confused with fixation, admiration and obsession. There aren't many people who can truly accept another's faults and mistakes. How are you sure your feelings are genuine?"

His lips slowly parted. "Why are you so afraid of them?" he countered instead.

She froze. Releasing a low breath, her fingers tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I'm not..." she quietly protested. It sounded pathetic. Her composure was cracking.

He sighed and took a step forward, wanting to approach her. Startled, she stepped away. He blinked at her once and gave her a questioning look which she answered by eyeing him skeptically. She would always calculate the situation beforehand; surely he knows this well.

"I need you to do me a favor," he told her, indirectly respecting her wish to stay apart by keeping his distance. "...Let the walls that you have built around yourself down."

Her blank expression made him hold his hands up in defense. "Please... just," he continued. "I need you to be completely honest with me with this."

She raised her eyebrow, hesitating before questioning: "Why?"

"Because I want to know how you feel!" the writer raised his voice at her chilled response. There was desperation in the lightly breaking voice and when clear blue eyes pierced into hers, her heart started to pound faster. "The truth!" he desired from her. "I don't care if it hurts me. For just this once, share what you really feel inside!"

She was taken away by the resolution in his words. She was stunned by the complete honesty he portrayed and this caused her to realize... that he really was prepared for any type of response.

In the beautiful rose garden, the surrounded greens were almost like a fortress. They had entered this isolated area as 'the detective' and 'the writer', but this carefully-constructed relationship had just wholeheartedly been tossed away. Despite the quick thumps in her chest, she felt strangely calm. Once she closed her eyes and released a deep breath... it was as if a heavy weight was finally lifted from her shoulders. To be able to be completely herself.... "A single emotion couldn't possibly describe what I feel for you," she begun to respond, answering his request to remain sincere. "There are so many of them going through me at the same time... just by looking at you." Recalling their first meeting as a detective and a writer, she remembered her first opinion about the young man she frightened in the doorway. Before she knew it, there was a small smile tugging at her lips. "I won't deny that I sometimes enjoyed our cooperation a little more than I had anticipated. Our conversations were never dull and I think we worked together well despite our usual quarrels. I have been trying to hide any feelings towards you away since the beginning of this case, but similar to you, I've come to realize that they've only grown stronger in time. There are too many of them to name them all individually... but they all lead to one simple conclusion. Because when I am completely honest with myself, there is no question about it..." She gave him a gentle smile, her fingers pressed together as she parted her lips and met his eyes.

"You  _disgust_  me."

The flickering disappointment in his eyes was only visible for a split second. The stance of the writer slacked. Silently, he turned his face away from her, allowing blonde locks of hair to hide his expression from her. She almost huffed in annoyance. Surely he must have realized that this could only turn out as a rejection. He has a habit of asking questions he already knows the answer of, after all.

"...Ah," he then muttered, his voice barely audible. She had to strain her ears to hear him over the sound of the wind. "You're ending it like this."

"No." Her immediate answer was resolute. "I didn't end it like this." Her eyes narrowed at his statement. "You did. Don't you dare forget that."  
His parted lips slowly closed. The sound of the wind was the only thing that interrupted the stretching silence between them. His stance shifted and she watched him slowly raise his head.

She must have stopped breathing at the sight of his expression. Through blonde locks of hair, dark, cold eyes bore deeply into hers. The warmth from before had completely disappeared and turned into something she didn't even recognize.

"What were you planning to do next?" he asked her, his voice suddenly an octave lower. The air around them seemed to thicken, the wind started to feel colder.

She paused for a moment to tug a strand of hair behind her ear; a habit she had once picked up to settle her nerves. "Well, I never did have breakfast, so perhaps I will start with that..." she announced. "After that, I plan to wait for the arrival of the police and provide them with the information I have gained about this case. I should pay my respect to the remaining members of the Callisford family before leaving; that is only proper. Then I will start making the long trip towards home. Of course, this is only possible if I am able to make it back to the castle... That will remain a surprise."

He broke into a smile, the edges of his lips too sharp to be friendly. "The distance is too great and you have picked a quiet place," he told her. "You have shown me that you're quite the runner, but let me assure you... I won't let you make it out of this garden."

She happily returned that empty smile of his. Their constructed relationship was breaking apart with each word added into their conversation. "And here I was, hoping we could simply go our own ways..." she proclaimed.

His eyebrow rose lightly upwards. "After everything I did to get us here?" he asked her, the tone of his voice surprisingly affectionate. "My dear, that is a little naïve coming from you..."

She felt her throat tighten at the choice of his words and the playfulness in her tone faded into something more serious. "My role as a detective in this case is officially over," she stated. "It ended the way you wanted it to. The evidence could not be traced back to you, especially not with your flawless acting. I won't humiliate myself by attempting to convince anyone otherwise."

A cold chuckle send a chill down her spine... it was entirely different than the warm laughter she had grown more used to. "While watching you admit your own defeat is a sight to behold, that isn't the reason we've come here." His sharp blue eyes continued to pierce into hers, a dark glister visible in them. "I fully realize that even if you would leave this place, you won't convince anyone with the truth. Regardless of that, I will not let you walk away from me."

"...I see," she absently replied. She really hadn't expected a quiet departure... That would be asking for too much in the current situation.

There was a hint of amusement in his tone, cleverly covered up with a friendly smile. "Regarding the case itself, you came admiringly close. I believe you know even more than I got to witness. You did not disappoint me, my dearest detective girl."

Although she had strived to keep her emotions in check, even the ability to feign an empty smile disappeared the instant she heard that appellation. She couldn't keep her distaste from surfacing as silent anger flared inside her chest. Only her cold stare responded to him, all pretenses lost at the sound of that one name.

"Although I have to say... you did play a bit unfairly," the young man continued, observing her reaction. "Ever since we have arrived, you've been cheating your way through, trying to steer this case in a direction that would put me at more risk..."

She raised her head high, watching him through narrowed eyes. "I wanted to grab every possible opportunity to place you behind bars with both hands," she admitted. "I tried my best to keep you from sabotaging this case by doing everything by myself. But, what I lacked was incriminating evidence against you. Everything I had managed to collect was substantial, which ended up being worthless. You had managed to create a personage that was simply not to blame."

At this, the expression on his face started to change. "Yet, you were suspicious of me from the beginning..." he quietly trailed. "I did not expect you to contact me again. In fact, I already made preparations if you would try to disappear once more. Tell me. Why did you decide to bring me along?" There was a chill in those words that the detective girl detected. The young man then seemed to realize something, resting his thumb on his bottom lip. "No, I guess that is the wrong question, isn't it?" he spoke, completely revising the question. When he glanced up at her, his next words surprised her. "Did you know why I chose to become a writer?"

Her entire expression went blank when she noticed the sharper edge in his voice.

"To be able to read every single, small and insignificant article of every existing newspaper  _every day_ ," he declared. There was certain spite in his voice that had completely lost its warmth. "I realized that it was the best opportunity I had of ever finding you, after I wasted an entire year trying to track you down. And one day, there just happened to be a large article of the opening of a new detective agency in London... It filled the entire second page. Since it's usually not worth such a large article in the morning newspaper, I can't help but wonder... why did you  _allow_ me to find you?"

Her gaze did not leave him when she parted her lips, taking in a small breath. "I took you with me for the same reason I paid good money to place that article in the newspaper..." she responded to him. "I spend my last three years hiding from a person I hadn't even met. The murders had stopped since I'd left; it seemed likely that they had stopped altogether. But even if this serial killer was still searching for me, I wanted it to end. It seemed ridiculous to waste my life away in the shadows. If he wasn't willing to give up, he would have found me eventually. I figured that I might as well be prepared for that." She paused for a moment, her gaze on the young man's frame. "I created a cheap detective agency and waited. I spend my time solving simple mysteries and sooner than I expected,  _you_  were walking into my detective agency. Dressed nicely, acting friendly and looking completely average. You were the perfect candidate to fill the spot of my assistant who was conveniently  _murdered_  just a month before." Even while trying to remain calm to the best of her ability, the last words were spoken louder than intended. Recalling her former assistant caused hatred and anger to grab hold of her. She had not necessarily gotten along with the rude, blond-haired girl, but she did  _not_ expect to find her in the darkness of that alley with a dark-red envelope on her chest –  _not_  like that.

He seemed oblivious to the disgust that threatened to submerge, giving her the opportunity to compose herself and silence the heavy emotions flaring inside of her. She could not afford to lose her composure now. She would lose.

Len nodded. "I did realize that you would be wary of me at first. Before I entered your detective agency, I had hoped that you would warm up to me in time. In that way, I might have been a little too optimistic myself..." His eyelids dropped for a moment and she could tell that the smile he gave her was forced. "But I only needed to gaze into those accusing eyes of yours to know that you weren't looking at me as a potential partner. Your mind was already set at our first official meeting. I realized that I wouldn't be able to change that, no matter what."

She placed her hands together. "Yes, well, any lingering doubts I might have had about you disappeared quickly. I only needed to see that weapon of yours to know that you were very skilled at handling it."

A frown instantly formed on his face. "...That really was a miscalculation on my part," he admitted. "There were a few break-ins in the hotel I was staying in and I honestly did not expect you to climb through the window; at least not that night. If I had known it was you, I would have never even considered reaching for it."

She watched him through long eyelashes. "Naturally," she replied smoothly. "You wanted to keep your act together and-"

"That isn't why," he strictly interrupted her. He stared back at her with such a serious expression, that he made her swallow her words. When she was still processing his statement, he averted his gaze. He wasn't going to elaborate it and she wisely decided not to ask upon it. "Either way," she chose to continue. "It was a slip up that made you change your tactics. You stabbed Keaton Callisford with your personal knife, but you couldn't leave it inside the body since I had already seen it. Instead, you placed a plain kitchen knife back."

He sharply turned his attention back at her.

She placed her hands in her sides. "The kitchen knife was a size smaller than the wound. The amount of blood on the body indicated that the knife was pulled back and carefully placed back inside," she told him. "There really  _wouldn't_  be a reason for the killer to stab a man, pull the knife back and decide to place it back inside the body."

He did not interrupt her as she continued talking. "At first, that simply doesn't make sense. Why didn't you just kill Keaton Callisford with the kitchen knife? It would injure him just as easily and it all seems like a lot of unnecessary work. But then I realized that this whole case is a little different. Rather... it wasn't  _your_  case."

A tense silence now filled the air. And as his gaze hardened, she was sure that he realized it by now; how much she figured out when she did her own private investigation.

"This isn't the case you had prepared for me," she stated. "This isn't the case you were talking about in that first letter you send me. The letter that arrived at this castle really was a fake and wasn't sent by you. It was created to place the blame on you though; a well-known serial killer. That is why killing Keaton Callisford with a simple kitchen knife wouldn't do... He insulted you."

The eyes of the young man darkened that instant. She saw the anger stir in those blue orbs, now harsh and merciless. "How did you know that?" he asked.

The complete calmness of his words caught her off-guard. She instantly marked it as dangerous. This was a tone she had not heard him use before. "I found traces of cyanine in one of the wine glasses at the murder scene. Keaton Callisford, the poor victim of a gruesome murder, was minutes away from murdering his wife or affair... He created the fake letter and you knew about it. This makes him the original culprit."

The young man's eyes narrowed dangerously and any trace of amusement had long left his face. She found herself strangely fascinated when she studied his expression close. Ah, she thought to herself. So these are the eyes of a murderer.

His voice remained calm, despite the clear reflection of hatred in his eyes. "I had everything arranged for you. It took me two months to prepare everything and I was about to send you another letter. Then suddenly,  _he_  came along and took  _everything_ from me. With that letter he created, he stole my identity and completely destroyed my plans and preparations."

Rin tensed. Those eyes were a bit intimidating, blazing with pure rage. She could see that his nails were deeply pressed into the palms of his hands, unable to contain the hatred and anger he felt. And her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of it.

"He  _ruined_  it," was what he hissed. "And he humiliated me further by hiring you. I had to improvise this entire case. Of course, it wasn't hard to figure everything out; in a matter of hours I already knew it was him. He was a moron, using the masquerade as a smoke screen and using my name to conceal his own suspicion. He should have known that I would not take this lightly."

Hearing the confirmation of her theory, did not please her in the slightest. Although she had realized halfway through the case that Len had simply been thrown in to it, he had quickly shaped it into a murder case of his own. Without any of his preparations, he still managed to block any paths she took in order to bring out the truth. He hadn't left any evidence against himself...

From the beginning she hadn't stood a chance against him, had she?

"I am hardly a detective with a reputation," she announced. "I hadn't gotten a murder case of my own before. Millina was the one that hired me out of nostalgic reasons. Her husband probably agreed to it, knowing I had little experience. He needed me to overlook the truth. Ironically, he couldn't have hired a better expert."

The words she mouthed were not necessarily voiced to calm him down. Regardless, he stared back at her with an unreadable expression. His eyes pierced her with an emotion she couldn't place and for a moment, she felt confused when he continued to search her face for some kind of answer. His shoulders slowly relaxed and his fists unclenched. He seemed to find it. The anger in those orbs now slowly ebbed away.

"You're right," he stated quietly. "I guess it doesn't matter now."

She didn't voice her incomprehension.

"Is there anything you would like to ask me?"

The question surprised her. She studied him for any sign of sarcasm, but didn't find it in his expression or the tone of his voice. Still, she was reluctant. She hadn't expected information out of him this easily. Why would he want to share it with her?

He must have noticed her hesitation. He answered the question she had left unspoken. "I'd like to finish this as quickly as possible," he told her. "I hate the idea of getting interrupted..."

Her heart thumped loudly against her chest. Her lips pressed themselves into a thin line. His words were as clear as glass to her: this will be over soon.

"Of course if you don't have any, we could easily end this conversation here."

She glared at him. The police would arrive within the hour, but surely the road wouldn't be clear of branches after the storm of last night. Not more than half an hour could have passed since the beginning of this conversation. Although she anticipated the arrival of the police, it simply wasn't worth holding her breath for.

"I do, actually," she replied, keeping her tone flat as she tried to act indifferent. "It's about the letter Millina left behind... the one I would call a fake, if it wasn't for the perfect handwriting on it. Julie Callisford may have been Millina's victim in this small family drama, but we both know that she did not murder her husband. She was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time." Her tone slipped, speaking words lower than she originally intended. "Surely she must have known that you would not spare her. What did you do to her, to force her into writing it?"

"Oh don't pretend to be oblivious now, my dear," he almost seemed to mock her. Blue eyes glistered with something sinister. There was something about his expression that made her tense. His eyes were harsh and cold despite the clearly countering tone of his voice. "Wasn't it  _you_  that informed me...." She did not know why she was suddenly holding her breath. His words were trailed through the air seductively, slowly speaking them as if he wanted them to sink in. "That the lady was..."

And they did, to the pitch of her stomach. She felt a shiver run down her spine, her throat tightening at the tone of his voice alone. She couldn't place why it bothered her to this agree, or perhaps she could... if she didn't vigorously tried to keep her mind off the possibility. The memory of that witnessed scene was already misting into her vision.

The edges of his cruel smile widened. " _Such_  a beautiful woman?" he asked.

Her heart dropped. Her round eyes could only silently gaze back at him as she could vividly envision the colors of that alleyway... the red of blood and the purple discoloration of skin that intercepted the disgusting black-colored stains on the walls... Her stomach turned at the distinct smell of decay she recalled.

"The type  _any man would fall for_..."

When and how the golden strands of hair turned teal, she could not tell. But grief tightly grabbed hold of her chest when she became dreadfully aware that she was no longer staring at the lifeless, defiled form of her former assistant.

"Tell me..." She was only half aware that she had squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to erase the image that frequently plagued her in her dreams. But it did not disappear... and his taunting words only seemed to echo louder within the borders of that memory. "How could I resist the temptation?" They enwrapped her, suffocated her. She felt nauseous, her trembling fingers absently folding over her lips. Millina... She tried to breathe as all heat rose to her cheeks. How dare.... how  _dare_ –!?

"Of course not," she heard his voice, alarmingly close to her face. Her eyes popped open when she felt herself being pulled forward, too stunned to react. She hadn't noticed how close he was until he had grabbed her wrist. She felt a light touch on her hip and her breath stocked. In a flash, he spun her around, letting go of her hand as she stumbled to catch her footing.

The dance was over within a second, but her heart sunk when she turned her head. There was an excited gleam in his eyes when he held up a sharp table knife. Her lips parted, her widened eyes resting on the silver object he had stolen from her.

What? ...What?

His voice broke her line of thought. "My dearest, if I thought that you'd come here without a weapon... I would be severely underestimating you." Her hand still dived into her left pocket; one she already knew would be empty. Her eyes were glued on the silver table knife; the one she'd taken along the cup of coffee this morning. "Aside from taking her life, no, I didn't touch her," he informed her. "Truth be told; she was hardly worth a second glance. I can't even fully comprehend that her death upsets you this much." In his stance, nor expression, was the tiniest hint of remorse. Did she expect there to be? She was looking in the eyes of a ruthless serial killer, after all. "But I should be grateful for that as well. ...Dread is such a fascinating emotion. It's almost like a drug; how it paralyzes the body and makes one less aware of their surroundings..."

Damn it. She could not believe she had fallen for that.

He pressed his lips against the sharp knife. "Don't you worry..." Len quietly told her. "You are the only person I am truly interested in. I am even willing to forgive you for breaking our little unspoken rule... Yes, you had made it a little difficult for me to convince that woman to sit down and write the letter – she was suddenly  _very_ cautious of me when I entered her room... but I managed, despite you warning her."

The detective girl narrowed her eyes. She tried not think about the fact that it had been her last shared conversation with her childhood friend; their last embrace when she folded the blankets around her frame and whispered the true culprit's name. "I asked her to escape. I specifically told her not to pack any belongings."

"You risked personal involvement by assisting the main suspect in her escape – I heard you open the window. At that point, I realized that you were trying to save her life," he strictly claimed. "If anyone else would have been witness to that scene, your credibility as a detective would have shattered. Proclaiming an accusation towards me without evidence would be absolutely unbelievable as well. You took such a risk in your attempt to save her life.... Even if she really was all you had left, you were giving her way too much credit."

The detective girl's glare sharpened.

"I could have used it against you," he proclaimed. "But I didn't."

"Should I be grateful? You didn't do it for me. If you had made your presence known, you wouldn't have been able to move freely. I would have never let you leave my sight."

There was a satisfied smirk on his face. "Very true." His fingers twirled  _her_ knife around, playing with the object. If he came at her now, she would have no possible defense. "Now... do you have any more questions?" he asked her.

"You didn't even answer my first question," she responded bitterly. "Why should I trust you to give me an honest answer now?"

"You shouldn't," was the reply.

He was just playing with her. She should have really seen that coming. Before he became a serial killer, he had been a detective specialized in undercover work. Lying was a specialty of his. He had already handed her a couple of fairytales; some of them she was still trying to decipher. His fear for blood and murder were evidently false. If his parents were truly murdered – they were filed as missing – she would quickly question his involvement in it. To see how far a former respectable detective could sink repulsed her.

"I don't have any more questions," she told him, articulating the words as if she had to force them out of her throat. There was no use in asking anything else, but she was fully aware of what that sentence would trigger. And as his stance shifted, she felt her heart pound heavily in her chest. This was going to be the end. One way or another...

His blue eyes glistered in excitement, while hers only contained silent anxiety. She was waiting for him to make the first move; he was the one with the weapon. Her body was stiff; her muscles tense and ready to move in any direction if necessary. It didn't take long before he made his move... just not in the way she expected him to.

"I believe it is time for us to leave then. We don't want to be late."

She couldn't help but stare at the outstretched hand for hers to take. She frowned, the confusion clearly visible on her face. Parting her lips, she couldn't even form the words to question this unpredictable action. Was this another trick to make her lower her guard?

"You look confused, my dear. Didn't I promise to take you away?" he sweetly asked.

Her pulse quickened, recalling the words he'd written to her years ago. A lingering promise from a serial killer... written with the blackest ink. Taking her away meant taking away her life... That is why her employee sent her away. That is why he was murdered instead of her.

"I will fight," Rin announced, feeling the determination in her rise. It subdued the fear that had slowly wrapped around her. "Perhaps it was easy for you to take away the lives of your other victims... but I'm not like them. I'll injure you, somehow. We're the only ones in the garden; you won't be able to blame anyone else. With the way I'll fight, no one will even dare to suggest suicide." She believed every word she said, clinging to them with unwavering strength of will. Even if she would die at this place, she would make sure that he would get caught for his crimes. It would be her last task as a detective.

For a moment, he seemed to be taken aback by her words. But when her determination didn't falter, he softly chuckled. "That is adorable," he commented affectionately. "I believe you have misinterpreted my message from the beginning... I will take you away, my dearest, but not to the world beyond."

Everything around her seemed to pause at those words. Her round eyes stared into his as they sank in. "...That doesn't make sense." From the moment she received his letter, she had known that she was going to be the next target. She had carried the weight of that written promise with her for years; the guilt of her employer's death and the knowledge that her life could abruptly end. "But you..." she could hear herself mutter. For months she had feared it and her desire to live finally strengthened her decision to take a stand. She couldn't understand what he was telling her now. Because everything that happened... everything, from the moment his second letter reached her through the lifeless body of her assistant, to this final confrontation in the rose garden... should build up to his desire to end her life. That made sense. This... didn't make any sense. "You can't be –"

" _Don't you dare move another inch_." Her heart skipped a beat at the stern command. "Don't you think I haven't noticed that you have taken four steps away from me since the beginning of this conversation," he lowly warned her, his blue eyes piercing into hers.

She hadn't even taken the full step back. She had barely lifted her foot; her heel was off the ground as her toes touched the ground behind her. She swallowed the lump in her throat, as she forced herself to keep their gaze locked. A large step in her direction made her tense. It was clear that he didn't allow her to create any more distance between them.

"You are going to kill me here!" she shouted at him in her agitated state, forcing the words out. "Because I was..." she hesitated. "Because I _am_... your next victim."

His eyebrows knitted together, looking at her with such a displeased expression. "Once again it unsettles me how low you think of yourself at times," he exhaled to the open air. "Do you honestly think I would have gone through so much trouble, if I wanted to turn you into another nameless corpse?"

She froze at that, her hand clutched tightly. At that moment, she could only blink. The annoyance clearly visible in his eyes caused her to inch back. "I spend years searching for you. If I wanted a victim, I could have just pulled another random blonde from the streets."

She released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Her mind was surprisingly blank as everything she had been so sure of, fell apart around her. She'd lost control of the situation in a matter of seconds. In all honesty, that scared her more than the thought of dying recently could. She'd been so sure just moments before... He didn't do this for his own amusement. He didn't want to take away her life. "Then what  _do_  you want from me?" she called out. She dreaded the answer, but didn't dare to fill in the blanks herself.

" _You_ ," he told her. His expressive eyes were stunning as it reflected the light of the sun that now made its appearance through the heavy clouds. And her widened eyes stared at him, her voice lost, her body frozen as she stared at his illuminated figure. "All of you."

At that point, she realized that she didn't want to understand the meaning to those words.

He stretched out his arm once more, his open hand inviting. "Come here."

She felt a shiver, her composure lost as fear gained the upper hand. She took a glance in the direction of the castle, her body tensing as she seriously considered making a run for it. In the back of her mind, she realized that she shouldn't make rash decisions based on panic. She couldn't afford to make that mistake.

"You won't find it there anymore." When she looked at his face, his eyes were set on the castle. He read her mind like a book, completely understanding her train of thought. "Safety, that is. They won't protect you any longer," he told her.

There was something strange at the way he mouthed those words. There was no malice, nothing that indicated an underlying threat. In fact, the certain flatness in his tone... made it sound like a proclamation. Already feeling tense, she was skeptical of it. "What... did you do?" she heard herself ask.

Those clear eyes held interest as they met hers once more. "Limiting your options," he replied, taking another step towards her. "My dear, I simply made sure that there is no place for you to hide."

She wasn't simply imagining things; there was something she had missed. Something he had prepared for her. And she didn't like where this was going.

"You wouldn't come with me if I asked you to. We both know this very well. I was hoping that, with the right persuasion, you would reconsider. And what better way is there, than to isolate you completely?" he smiled at her. "At approximately eleven o'clock, I will be the least of your problems."

Her lips parted and closed again, realization dawning her. She realized that the police would arrive around that time. But that wasn't all... when did the maids start their morning cleaning round? In the back of her mind, she knew exactly what it could mean. All of the pieces were lying in front of her, but she did not want to piece them together. She was reluctant of the full picture that would stare back at her with the undeniable truth.

"It is the evidence that tells the story... those are your words, aren't they?" Blue eyes penetrated hers, dark amusement in the tone of his voice. "I am flattered that you kept a close eye on me, but if you hadn't been so hard on yourself, you wouldn't be in this position. If you had simply allowed yourself to rest... or even unpack..."

All color was drained from her face when she realized the mistake she made. She hadn't paid close attention to her own guest room; not after inspecting it the first time she entered. He had been sleeping in it yesterday night. It was obvious, wasn't it? It was such an obvious, simple and stupid mistake. "You... framed me."

"I simply helped you make the right decision," he chuckled. "By nightfall, all of England will be out for your arrest. The evidence in this case will be very convincing. It is impossible to mistake the body of a young lady inside that closet."

Her heart sank to her stomach. "...Millina?" was the word that left her throat. The mere thought of her childhood friend's lifeless body squeezed inside the closet of a room she was in hours ago, made her sick to the stomach. Wouldn't anyone guess that someone planted it in there to frame her?

And he shook his head as a smug smile crept its way on his features. And when he finally responded, it wasn't the answer she had expected. "The dead don't talk, my love."

Confusion and understanding hit her at the same time, the experience of it left her shaken as a million questions entered her mind.

"In your closet resides the only witness to the murder of Keaton Callisford," he answered for her, tilting his head upward to stare at her through thick eyelashes. "I accidently saved her from the fate of being poisoned. She should have been grateful, but all that annoying woman did was cry after I stabbed him."

And her lips formed a conclusion. There were two wineglasses, with one containing cyanine. Keaton, as the original culprit, intended to poison... "Gillium Noverin."

"She should wake up from her drugged state any moment," he told her. "And she will be delighted to tell everyone who had murdered her secret lover."

Her cheeks heated up in anger, her frown deepening as the realization sunk in. She understood it well. Gillium did see Len commit murder, but that wasn't what she was going to tell the police. She glared at the person in front of her for outsmarting her.

"Don't look at me like that," he raised his eyebrow at her. "You were the one that wanted to play dress-up, my dear..."

She did. It had been her plan and she could only blame herself for the situation she was in. Looking back at it, switching at the masquerade had been a mistake. At that time it had seem like a golden opportunity to keep him in her line of sight. The detective in a colorful dress would be closely monitored by the other suspects as well. Having Len dance in the middle of the room allowed her to keep a close eye on him as she pretended to be a servant. She'd hoped that the heels would have at least slowed him down, but not only did she miss information from Gaillard that night... he'd used his costume to the best of his ability, completely turning around the tables.

"The statement of Lady Noverin is enough to convict you. They will probably convict you for the murder of Julie Callisford as well. And that of Millina,  _if_  they manage to find the body..."

She bit the inside of her cheek. He did not need to remind her of the fact that she looked at three murder charges. If they'd convict her, she would be hanged.

"I am unwilling to share you though," he told her. A gentle tone framed his voice as he looked at her with a painfully familiar warm smile. She could not help but be wary of it, the concept of her own trial still vibrant in her thoughts. "I will keep you from them," he promised to her. "I will keep you safe and protected."

"You will keep me imprisoned," she corrected him, the tone of her own voice hostile.

"They won't," he seemed to agree with her. His eyes pierced into hers. "Not for long. But freedom in the form of death isn't something you'd want to consider..."

Her lips closed together, responding with silence. She truly understood the reality of the situation. He had cornered her and forced her into this unimaginable position. Isn't grasping that outstretched hand the only option she had left? To trade her freedom for her life... either way; she would lose something irreplaceably important.

Her body felt stiff as all the stress and tension build up inside her. "You played this well," she had to admit. "You left me completely defenseless."

"There is only one option left for you to take," his simple words stung.

"There is no need to remind me of that," Rin breathed, averting her gaze. He was right... there was no way around it. There was only one possible outcome she could see and the odds were not in her favor. She didn't like it. But the stakes were high.

Taking a breath, she initiated that wavering step in his direction.

"You are making the right decision," he reassured her. If he was trying to settle her nerves, he was doing a terrible job of it. "I won't make you regret it, I promise." She did not find any comfort in his sweetened lies and hollow promises, but forced herself to close the distance between them nonetheless. She had to... She had no allies, no one to fall back or rely on. His offer was the only one she was able to receive; no one else would reach a hand out to her anymore. Yet, she couldn't bring it in her to meet his gaze when she paused in front of him, hesitating only to breathe in and out slowly.

"It's alright," he whispered, his voice far too close to her.

She could feel the warmth of his palm when her fingers folded over his. When they gently curled around her, she responded by snapping the joint of his fifth digit.

He cried out in pain and she ducked under his arm, ready to take the sprint. It had been a setback when he switched their positions earlier, but if she could just reach her start position, she knew she could make it...

A smothered cry left her throat. He had been faster than she had anticipated.

She winced when her cheek scraped against the grass. She had only been able to take four steps in the right direction before his weight had forced her against the soil. His grip on her arms hadn't allowed her to catch herself and she had landed face-first into the green path.

"I won't... come with you," she groaned, struggling to loosen his hold on her. She could hear him take a couple of uneven breaths as he pulled himself up. His knee in the small of her back prevented her from rising from the grass along with him and she gritted her teeth when he was able to take hold of one of her arms. Once she deliberately pressed the side of her face into the ground, she was able to look at him. Len's features were twisted into a deep scowl, intense narrowed eyes seething. "Do you have any idea –" he growled. " _Any idea_ what you are doing to yourself!?"

She coldly stared back at him in response. His grip on her hand tightened.

"What were you planning to do from this point on!? Run and be a fugitive?" he demanded from her. "Without money, without a place to stay? You have hardly slept – hardly eaten anything these last two days; do you really think that you can keep this up?"

She merely gazed back to that most intimidating shade of blue. "I'll take my chances," she stoically replied. She had given him her final answer. She had declined his invitation, fully aware of the consequences it could bring. The truth of the matter is... that she would rather die for a crime she did not commit than take his hand.

Comprehension momentarily flickered in his eyes. That dark gaze penetrated hers, burning as they reflected his aggravated state. The understanding of her decision seemed to sink in and his parted lips slowly mended together. "This has been a waste of my time." She glanced at the hand that reached into his left pocket; noticing that his fifth digit bended a little further than could be considered normal.

"There was this scent around you," she spoke softly. She caught the sight of his shoulders tensing up. "A hint of something sweetly intoxicating," she continued, looking up to him with a guiltless expression. In the second of silence that followed, his hand retreated from the pocket she knew to be empty. "Don't bother," she stated. "I know the smell of chloroform."

Len narrowed his gaze. "I should have known when you allowed me to embrace..." he released a tired sigh. "You are not making this any easier for me either."

"We are both stubborn in that sense," the detective girl mumbled. His hand reached in her pocket and she instantly stiffened. But after emptying both pockets, the object he was searching for was still far from his grasp. She watched him grit his teeth when he lifted the kitchen knife.

"If you're not going to murder me, that thing won't intimidate me," she calmly stated.

" _I know!_ "he growled at her, cutting through the air in his frustrated state. "... _I know."_ He closed his eyes and took a breath. "Give me a moment to think this through."

"We both desire for a different ending, Len. One of us isn't going to get what he wants."

"Where did you hide it?" he suddenly demanded from her.

She raised her eyebrow. "I don't have it on me. Of course I got rid of it. The odds that it would be used against me were too high to even consider bringing it along."

At that moment, he seemed to have lost his patience. His hand pulled the fabric that covered her shoulders. The coat fell on the grass like a blanket and an immediate coldness filled her body that had nothing to do with the autumn wind. In the embrace she initiated and the walk towards the garden, there hadn't been any opportunity to dump the rag with chloroform and that was what Len seemed to conclude. When his fingertips roamed around her waist and sides, feeling around in search of the rag, the detective girl lost her composure. "I don't have it on me!" she repeated, struggling to get one of her arms loose. "I tucked it underneath the blankets of Millina's room after I got it out of your pocket!"

He stopped. A silence formed between the two of them as the realization of her words sank in. And her heart started to pound when, at that moment, his facial expression started to change. All emotion left his face, staring down at her with a distant coldness reflected in his gaze, she had only managed to see twice before. There was no mercy or compassion. No warmth, no kindness. She was staring into the uncaring cold eyes of a serial killer.

He pocketed the knife and released her arm. She was startled when he forcibly took her by the shoulders and roughly turned her around. Her back touched the soil and before she could react, his left hand cut down her air supply. For a moment, her widened eyes could only stare back at him.

"I never wanted this," he told her as he continued to watch her. If the situation was any different, she would have laughed at the uninspired words every murderer seemed to use. But the panic at not being able to breathe was a primal one. She fought to get away, her nails clawing away at his wrist as her oxygen levels dropped.

"I am not allowing you to commit suicide," he informed her. It was then that his grip loosened a little. She could almost breathe into the grip, but it wasn't enough. She was allowed one shallow breath, before the pressure returned.

With a racing heartbeat, she understood that he wasn't trying to strangle her to death. He was trying to make her pass out.

No.  _No._

She squeezed her eyes shut, the need to take a breath overwhelming. Raw instinct took over at that moment, kicking and fighting her attacker.

She clenched her teeth together and with only the strength of will and a limited amount of time, struggled for an opening. She managed to hit him once or twice, but she wasn't able to keep her grip on him. With each passing second, panic seemed to grow along her carbon dioxide levels. She felt her head clouding over; the urge to take a breath slowly becoming unbearable. When her fingers grabbed hold of something, she held on it tight, pushing her nails into the skin.

A low groan made her open her eyes and for a moment, she was astounded when she was allowed a brief intake of oxygen. She had managed to take hold of his shoulder and the realization of this, made a ray of hope flutter in her chest.

The painful shoulder he had landed on when they fell down the ladder; she dug her fingers deeply into the muscle, her sharp nails clawing through fiber.

His expression twisted into one of agony, hissing lowly at the pain. He reached for her wrist, but her will was stronger. She clutched to that skin as tightly as she could, refusing to let go of her one chance out. When his hold on her neck slacked, she was able to pull away from him. He winced as he took hold of his shoulder. She took that moment to move away from him.

Her trembling fingertips lightly touched the skin of her neck, managing to take a single, shaky breath. God, that  _hurts_. She squeezed her damp eyes shut, trying to bear with the burning pain. She felt drained of energy and had a tingling sensation in her legs when she struggled to lift herself up. She tried to keep herself from falling when she placed weight on her right foot and stumbled forward. It felt as if she had no control over her own two feet anymore.

Unannounced, came the sharp overwhelming need to cough. Her lungs felt as if they were on fire when she started wheezing, desperately gasping for air she could only find in the short moments between coughing.

It hurt. It  _hurt_. She could feel the warm tears stream down her cheeks. She was suffocating. Fear flared in her chest. Was she dying? It certainly felt that way.

She couldn't have taken more than a few steps before she fell to the ground, almost vomiting into the bushes. Her fingers reached into the soil beneath her, taking a sharp breath as a coughing fit overwhelmed her once more. Her throat was raw and her head was spinning. For minutes she panted heavily, before coughing and panting again. Only then did the urge seem to lessen.

The battle with her own body exhausted her. When she was able to breathe in and out shakily again, she was completely drained of energy. She leaned her head against the cold grass, her hands clutched tightly together, willing herself to stay conscious.

An arm wrapped around her waist and a sinking feeling of dread overwhelmed her. A deep intake of breath that didn't belong to her made her close her eyes as she felt him lean his head against her back. She felt herself tremble, a low breath escaping her lips as she fought to keep her tears in.

They stayed like this for at least a minute. He was unsteady, she was worn-out, the both of them simply listening to each other's uneven breaths. If it weren't for the hopelessness of the situation, this might have actually been peaceful.

"Do you know... what I was going to say yesterday evening?" he softly murmured. "When I saw you here in this garden... and when I was finally able to hold you into my arms, I had realized... how much you had changed my life."

She recalled how she had asked him for the rest of his unspoken sentence, before he made up an excuse and blamed it on feeling nervous. "'You are...'" she quietly repeated his words, the words coming out of her throat in a low pant.

His embrace on her waist tightened. "...Everything to me."

She closed her eyes and breathed out. She would never forget this moment.

His fingertips twitched against her stomach. She bit the inside of her cheek when she felt him stiffen, felt the warm liquid seep over her fingers. This was a decision she would never be able to take back. The ending she never wanted.

She let go of the knife that had sank deeply into the stomach of her victim, who then doubled over in pain. The contact disappeared and she heard him hit the ground, groaning quietly at a pain that would have made others scream out.

She let herself fall to the side, only half supporting herself. Her throat felt dry and her heart was pounding loudly against her chest, but she still forced herself to turn around to face the consequences of her decision.

The clear red spot that soaked through his blouse was growing larger with each passing moment. Sweat started forming on his forehead, his chest rapidly moving up and down as his fingers twitched around the knife, only half inside his body. He didn't attempt to pull it out, probably knowing that it would do more harm than good.

His features were twisted in an expression of agony and he looked at her with such pain reflected in his eyes, that she wondered if it was from the mental or physical anguish. She nearly averted her gaze.

For a single moment, he stared at the spot beneath the bushes. It travelled from the dug up loose earth, to the dirty cloth of a white napkin... and rested on her tainted hands. The knife she had hidden beneath the rose bushes. The only reason she had come there yesterday; the only reason she had wanted to come here today... To dig it from the earth should she have nothing else to fall back on. Her last resort.

She watched the rise and fall of his chest, blood exiting the wound as red as the roses around them. She wiped the wetness away, but that didn't stop it from flowing from her eyes. For a moment, her fingers ghosted over the hem of the knife. It would only take one push for everything to end.

"You deserve it..." she whispered. She knew that he did. The amount of lives he had taken was unforgivable. "You deserve it... and yet..."

He looked at her with fearless eyes. It made her shake her head as she took her hand back. "I won't end you. Neither am I going to help you." This would be their final goodbye. Even if he would live through this, she intended to make sure that they will never meet again. "Whether you bleed out before help arrives... is something I will have no control over." She planted her hand into the grass and raised her knee to rise up.

A sharp pull on the collar of her dress caught her by surprise and she could only stumble forward when he roughly pulled her down again. She was astounded by the strength he still possessed and felt her breath stock when he closed the distance between them. The sensation was surprisingly soft, warm and passionate; his lips pressed lovingly against hers. It was over within a second, yet it left her stunned.

Hazy eyes pierced her, with a darker gleam in his eyes that made her heart pound.

" _You..._ " he vowed. "I will...  _never_ – give up."

She pulled away. At that moment, her lips pressed together in condemnation and she stumbled back on her feet. She noticed the growing stain due to the movement he made, but there wasn't a hint of regret at the pain it must have caused him. Her heart felt heavy, knowing that his words were not to be taken lightly. They formed another promise to her. That he would find her... no matter how long it takes.

She only felt pity as she continued to stare at the life leaving the person that had been the cause of her own disrupted life. And when he met her eyes, his lips spread in the smallest stretch. It almost made her choke on bitter laughter. Despite of everything, he was still carrying such a loving expression.

"Goodbye, Len," she smiled at him.

Turning her heel, she left it all behind her.

Her grief. Her sins. Her freedom. And her assistant.

She never glanced back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do ask me questions if you still have any questions or if anything is unclear to you. I actually advise you to reread the whole story. In every conversation I have written between Rin and Len, there are (a lot of) double-meanings. It has been very amusing to write them. This has been a long journey and I enjoyed it very much. Thank you so much for reading this story of mine and I look forward to your reaction.


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